Fitting In vs. Belonging: My Personal Journey

Lately I’ve been working on my memoir – still and forever, if I’m honest – and things have come up, as they do. One topic that’s been rattling around in my head is the idea of fitting in vs. belonging.

Throughout my childhood and as a young adult, I put substantial effort into fitting in. I would do, say, or even wear certain things, hoping for the acceptance I desired. I craved positive attention and was willing to hide parts of myself to get it. I didn’t know the difference between fitting in and belonging.

Brené Brown says, “True belonging doesn’t require us to change who we are. It requires us to BE who we are.”

My insecurities were born in my early family life. I learned to moderate myself at a very young age. I never felt I belonged in our household of five. I experienced trauma as a child stemming from my mother’s erratic behavior and the absence of my father. I was the youngest of three girls, raised by an emotionally toxic mother, whose behavior had estranged my father. I don’t excuse him for leaving us all to deal with Mother on our own, but I do see how living with my mother must have pushed him away.

With an age gap of six and nine years between my sisters and me – me being the youngest – it felt like I had three mothers. I was told what to do, when to do it, how to do it. I learned to keep my mouth shut and not try to express an opinion, lest I be chastised or ridiculed. I was emotionally squashed. I grew up afraid to open my mouth at home, at school, in any social situation. Even now, in my sixties, and after many years in and out of therapy, I still struggle.

As a young woman, I was thin and pretty. I had no problem attracting men. And there were a lot of them – some flings, some relationships. But none of those encounters led to true happiness. I was always modifying myself in hopes of gaining acceptance and love, but then would wake up one day and realize I’d latched onto someone who wasn’t intellectually stimulating or willing to grow or let me grow. I equated sex with love. But that’s a whole other story not for this post.

As an adult, I became an overachiever in my career, addicted to the attention I received for being smart, efficient, or professional. The positive feedback I received fooled me into believing I belonged. But I was only barely surviving, courtesy of a separate persona I developed that masked my true self. I would pull it on like an overcoat when I left the house and then come home at the end of the day, exhausted. I was an introvert, living an extroverted existence, five days a week. I had a constant need to prove myself worthy. Imposter syndrome, anyone?

Socially, I would try again and again to connect with people and take it personally when I realized they weren’t interested. It was discouraging to try so hard to be accepted only to be disappointed when I didn’t come away with the prize.  

Eventually, I took time to think about what may be going wrong for me. And I remembered some people who have tried to connect with me over the years when I wasn’t interested. So, was my experience Karma or just human nature? I’m going with human nature. And sometimes it’s just timing. We’re not aligned in what we’re looking for today, but maybe later, as we all learn about ourselves and life, we’ll cross paths again and both want to connect.

While painful, revisiting these disappointing memories has been good for me. It has helped me work through some feelings and connect some dots. Sometimes we need to accept that this thing we think we want is just not a good fit. I believe anything that leaves you feeling empty isn’t worth your time and energy.

These days, I’m in a more objective place, where I’m willing to show my uniqueness to people I meet and not have the expectation that they be drawn to that. I remind myself before going into a new social setting that I will either be accepted or not, but either way, I’ll be okay. I’m a good person. I know that to be true.

I’m comforted knowing I have a small circle of close friends, whom I treasure, and who treasure me. Every one of them picked me, in spite of myself. And I picked them. I don’t feel the need to hide any part of me when I’m with them. These are the types of friendships where time and distance make no difference. Getting together feels easy and light, no matter how long it’s been. And that, my friends, is my definition of belonging.

What is your definition of belonging? What discoveries have you made about yourself as you interact with others and connect (or not) with others?