Why do I still hold on to relationships that don’t serve me? From a young age I’ve been a people pleaser, and just wanted everyone to like me. Everyone. When I was 7 or 8 years old, I was invited to a craft fair. I went along with my friend and her family with a crisp $20 bill in the pocket of my maroon corduroys. My mom had given it to me to spend on my heart’s desire and after staking out all the rows and rows of craft vendors offering their wares, I was giddy with excitement. It must have been the first time I’d been given such independence and control in how I would spend money.

We walked down the first row of tables and as my friend and her family purveyed the area for what caught their eye, mine settled on one of the first tables in that row. It was closest to the entrance and a little hidden behind the commotion and setup surrounding the entrance to the fair. A little old man sat behind a table, with hoards of oil paintings surrounding him- some on easels, some displayed on the table in front of him. His eyes met mine as I noticed that no one was near his paintings and no interest was being shown in his offerings. This is what made me approach him- not the paintings, but the fact that he was all alone. I walked up to his table and tried to feign genuine interest in his paintings. He held out a small, wooden frame encasing an oil painting of a lady bug. There wasn’t anything special about this painting, in fact I wasn’t smitten by it at all. But the man’s shaking, wrinkled hand as he held it out to me and the pleading look in his eye, or maybe the fact that in the 20 minutes I’d devoted to trying to seem interested in his wares no one had joined me at his booth, led me to ask how much he wanted for the painting.

“Twenty dollars,” he replied meeting my eyes after his quick glance of me pulling that bill out from inside my pocket.

I slowly handed it over to him, knowing I was spending all my money in the first few minutes of our time at the craft fair. But hoping beyond hope that this small gesture would make him feel less small, alone, and unfortunate.

I think of this story often. I understand that my compassion for others and fierce concern for their feelings and state of mind can sometimes be a gift. As a teenager, I was always the one inviting the outcasts out with my group of friends or sticking up for the kid who was being bullied in class.

But I’ve often felt like it’s a real drag. Especially as I get older and am possessing less and less patience for people who drain me, are dishonest, are unable to be REAL, or demonstrate emotional vampirism. Boundaries are so hard for me to draw in the sand. I want to get better at this, especially because I don’t have the time or energy within my own crazy life of babies and teenagers to be anyone else’s problem solver. Maybe there’s a part of me that likes to be the problem solver. And I don’t mind helping someone talk out a crisis. It’s not the people who need me emotionally that are sapping my faith in humanity.

It’s the ones who don’t. It’s the ones who aren’t authentic, who aren’t vulnerable. Who believe their lives have to look perfect to everyone around them to be good lives. I will naturally talk about the good, the bad, and the ugly with those I’m close enough to regularly converse with. Because without this back and forth, the relationship just seems like nonsense. That’s the 40-year-old coming out in me. And I like it! That part of 40, that outlook on life is what makes mid-life so much more rewarding and meaningful.

This explains why social media is such a conundrum for me. It makes the ruse that these people constantly fan so very easy.  So instead of complaining about this less savory trait in others, why not keep my distance, take a break, choose to associate with people who are more my type of person? THIS IS THE ISSUE! I can’t seem to do that. And not only that, social media gives you the daily permission to be friends with absolutely everyone you’ve ever known and to usually only see the most wonderful parts of their lives. I feel like I have to be friends with everyone to prove that everyone likes me. I’m constantly spending my last 20 emotional bucks on people who give me nothing in return. At least the old man gave me an oil painting of a lady bug.