“Do I give off orphan vibes?” I asked my therapist today.

They weren’t really the right words to try to explain my quandary, but it got me close enough to get the ball rolling in exploring the feelings I’ve been pondering. Besides, “orphan vibes” is a little fun to say, in a sardonic sort of way. I had to read a lot of Dickens in high school, so the images “orphan vibes” bring to mind give me a bit of a chuckle. But I digress.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been embraced by many different women in my life who’ve expressed that they see me as a daughter, or as good as one. Neighbors, friends’ mothers or grandmothers, relatives of relatives, many of my teachers growing up, even a number of my supervisors and coworkers over the years. It is not a new social pattern in my life, but it’s something I’ve come to notice very recently. It’s made me wonder if I’m attracting a certain kind of energy, if I’m giving off this aura that I’m a sad little motherless girl who needs that kind of love. If so, certainly I haven’t been doing it on purpose. I’ve been transparent about my choices to live my life without my mother in the last six years, and the fact that my father died in 2007, but I sure wasn’t asking for this kind of attention. And yet, this sort of validation and approval from women of a certain age and/or social position has time and time again cropped up to stroke my ego (or soothe my id). What’s more, it happens so subconsciously that I apparently have had a hell of a time realizing it’s even happening. For decades.

More so, it’s that I perhaps have subconsciously sought out that validation and approval from substitute “mother-figures” for most of my life, and my brain has just gotten too good at doing so. Having been so well-trained in the art of people-pleasing, particularly in “mother-pleasing” so to speak, I have been continually honing those qualities that adults often value and sometimes take advantage of in children (self-sufficiency, responsibility, compliance, humility, helpfulness, and the like). From an extremely early age, with how I was raised, I’ve developed a blade-sharp skill of anticipating people’s needs, both practical and emotional ones, and for most of my life the logical next step (and the expectation from many adults around me) was to do what I could to fulfill them. What I’ve come to understand lately is that in doing so, I was also fulfilling my own need for attention and appreciation. Indeed, that’s what I learned was the way to get that attention and appreciation.

I was an exceptional student all through school, and preened from the praise my teachers offered me; the same became true with most of my supervisors and even coworkers, once I began work as a young adult. I couldn’t have cared less about my peers and whether or not they liked me, but my teachers, supervisors, and coworkers of a sufficient age above mine? Oh, to be on the receiving end of their favoritism…I’m only now coming to appreciate how I craved that so much of the time. It gave me the validation for my intellect that I never received at home, where it was generally misunderstood and therefore often not supported. Mothers of friends and even mothers of step-relatives or relatives by marriage have also always seemed to love me. So, I’ve apparently leaned into that, finding myself on the receiving end of maternal affection that wasn’t dependent on my actions beyond what I’d learned to be respectful (perhaps somewhat submissive) behavior.

In saying all of this, I don’t intend to make this sound like a big problem. Overall it’s quite harmless, and that’s the key, or one of the keys. Another key, however, is to be mindful of the impact that this sort of social pattern can have on one’s own emotional safety and well-being. Having finally learned about the importance of boundaries only about six years ago, I don’t want to accidentally cross any boundaries that I shouldn’t. That is the crux of what brought this dilemma, or rather, concern that there was a dilemma, to my attention. Having relationships with women who think of me as someone daughter-like — or, to fight with the semantics a bit, as someone who is kind and respectful and compassionate with them — is not a bad thing. It does me no harm, and it does them no harm. I have zero interest in manipulating such situations to my advantage. I didn’t realize until just today, when my therapist and I did a deep dive into these memories, that this social pattern has been so entrenched in my life experience.

I can understand my mistrust of that sort of love (or any sort of love). I always look for the strings that I presume must be attached. In the end, what it boils down to is my accepting that I deserve that love and validation and support. I am worthy of it, regardless of my ability to preemptively behave the way people would want me to behave so that I can make them happy. It’s great to make other people happy, and it’s great to make yourself happy. It gets complicated if the only way you find happiness is by fulfilling other people’s needs, regardless of your own needs. None of this exists in a vacuum, and there’s plenty of layering and back and forth, but the fact still remains that you deserve to be loved and to be happy, for yourself, just as you are.

Let me try saying that again in first person. The fact still remains that I deserve to be loved and to be happy for myself, just as I am.

Hmm. Nope. Felt weird. Well, I’ll keep working on getting myself to believe that:

1) I’m not a bargaining chip in the broader interests of collective joy and love and peace.

2) It is okay for people to respect me and like me and care about me. I……deserve…..that.

3) Some personality traits may form from maladaptive stimuli and structures, but these traits in themselves are not necessarily bad. QED, I’m not a bad person because I was raised under bad circumstances.

4) I’m an overly mindful person, but that is not always a bad thing.

5) Receiving maternal love can be…good.

Really, I feel blessed that so many women have seen something in me that is worth loving. I am grateful, and now that the memories are flooding to the surface, I’m a little overwhelmed by just how many women — dozens of women across the diasporic footprint that is my life thus far — saw that and gave me that gift. It’s the kind of gift that saves lives, when otherwise one could spiral into dark despair. Perhaps the truth is that I think of myself as an orphan, and these women have been placed in my path to see me and remind me that I am not alone, not destined for abandonment at all. Maybe I needed this sort of irrefutable evidence, to counter my penchant for disbelieving that I deserve care and support and validation.

Maybe I do give off orphan vibes. But, maybe it’s just a beacon, to call for aid so that reinforcements are brought in, to remind me that I am, in fact, loved.