Care

I found out about a month ago that, personality-wise, I am an INFJ. Apparently it's the rarest of all 16 personality types. This is psychology, and it's not entirely accurate or as intensely applicable for everyone, and I suspect there are blurs between personalities, but the description for INFJ sums up my behavior and mental patters quite well. INFJ stands for Introverted/Introspective Intuitive Feeling Judging.

One trait found in INFJs and me alike, is caring for others. I have said, several times to friends, that I find it difficult not to care about people. I care too much. Whether it manifests in a positive way, such as trying to help someone with a problem, or whether it is more negative, such as caring about what someone somewhere says about me that may be negative. It's a twisted, paradoxical approach to the world and what we call 'life'. Delve, I go.

I care about people. Very much. Even those who tended not to be very nice to me in high school. I fantasised about standing up to them and bringing justice with my witty vocabulary and words of literary steel, but none of that came out really, because I never saw the need for vengeance past the illusion of a thought. I thought the bullies off my bus during my high school years weren't being nice to me when they called me 'gay' or 'big-nose', but I did not think they were bad people, just choosing conflict or preying upon the weak because they felt they had to, somehow, in their minds. I didn't know about egos at the time, but that's effectively what was operating in their minds, I reckon now, retrospectively. They were, still are, human beings, who I felt ought to have been punished, so they would learn from their mistakes. But at the same time, I also felt they needed to be treated with compassion, somewhere behind my peek-a-booing veil of revenge-thoughts. I cared about them even when they hurt me. I couldn't bring myself to harm them, to retaliate. I just went back into my shell, accepting the damage they were dealing me as pain, overthinking about it the next day. Funny times, those were. But I grew past that.

I care about people, even before I meet them. I recognise that you are a human being, and if I meet you, I assume you have a need to be cared for. This care manifests if I can get out from behind the introverted wall that is placed up like a panel against the wind, when we first meet. It comes down the more trust I can build in you. And it isn't very hard to build trust, it just requires you to pay me attention, even just being interested in what I have to say, or asking me questions. But even with that windbreaker, I care about you. I want to hear about your problems and perhaps I could offer you some help with them. Even if they are minor, I enjoy listening and then solving. I am not always right, I do not promise I am. But I feel I can be of service by simply listening, being there. I cherish that position of someone that is 'always there'. If not in body, in spirit. I truly value that because I feel it's a way of interacting and connecting with people, by jumping on their ship and showing them perhaps, if I know, how to steer out of the muddy waters they may find themselves in. I feel useful when I do that, when I help. And afterwards, when they are in calmer seas, I feel good, and still care about them.

The windbreaker I put up is more for my own protection, as a way of preventing hurt from you by not sharing so much with you until I feel it is safe to share that. The way to make me feel safe is by showing me you care enough to listen to what I say without judging me. Judgment is terrifying for me. Well, I have learned to not dwell upon it, but in the moment that it is given, I still am affected by judgments. I haven't yet found the strength to just discard them and move on. But I reckon that will come.

I care. I would like others to care as much as I do, about others, about me. Alas, that does not happen, nor I believe is it meant to. I want to be cared for, yes, while still offering care to others. I believe people who do care for me could communicate that to me. It feels good. It validates my existence, to know that I am not alienated. I don't have to be made to feel special, because that is an illusion and I accept that. But the more selfless I am, without having some of that care returned, the more drained I feel. But expecting... I am expecting... I need to stop that. Because expectations aren't going to be fulfilled.

"A Course In Miracles" says that one should not have any cares, and just trust. So, I trust. I think it refers to cares more of the material type, but, what if it also means the emotional type. Like emotional validation. No 'what ifs'. I remember now. A close friend told me not to do those 'what ifs'. Just go with it. So I leave this question open, and trust in the Answer.

I wonder also whether it is a question of others not being able to express that they care. Or perhaps they don't feel the care at all, and it's just in my head because I want them to care for me as much as I care for them. I realise that people don't do that - they don't show it. And I accept that, I don't need to be overwhelmed by it, as I imagine I would be if the same level of care that I project into the world would be returned on to me. Yet, I want more. And I have been told that I ought to be more selfish. I do want to be cared for. A good friend says to me that that's just being human. Before, I thought thinking something like that was terribly arrogant and demanding. Now, perhaps it isn't quite as horrific, but it still doesn't sit well with me. It feels like I'm asking something of the world that it cannot give. Love, say. Maybe I'm just not seeing it. Maybe I choose not to see it because I want to feel like a victim? That's no winning formula.

But people can give love. I cannot expect it, or I will be disappointed. But I hope, somehow, someday, I will receive love, unhinged, unencumbered, unconditional. And I give because I am given.