Gifts

I’m afraid to give gifts. Truthfully, I’m only afraid to give gifts to the love of my life. He’s nothing but gracious and grateful and loving and generally overwhelmed at being fussed about. My fear has absolutely nothing to do with him.

Nope. This is yet one more side effect from being with a narc for decades.

No gift was ever good enough. The thoughtfulness of the gifts I gave meant nothing. The entire value was placed on how well it met with what he specifically wanted. Gift giving to the ex was about stuff. Materialistic stuff. Nothing more.

Our second Christmas together he really wanted a PS2. I was in grad school and so our funds weren’t sufficient enough for a PS2, but I knew he was getting money from family and figured if I gave him some, too, he’d be able to get one. So, I took what I could afford to give him, got a bunch of single dollar bills, and crafted the letters PS2 onto some tagboard out of the dollars. Cute, right? Not to him. He scoffed, said something about not having anything new and tangible to play with or read or wear or whatever on Christmas day, and was in a mood the rest of the day. Keep in mind he was a fucking adult.

When I was traveling a lot, I always brought back gifts. He would tell me exactly what he wanted me to bring back for him. I would stress and agonize over whether I’d get the “right” thing, which I rarely did. I’m not sure if the “right” thing ever actually existed.

I would buy him t-shirts that he’d never wear because they “weren’t soft enough”. Books he’d never read because “I’m not really in the mood” or “it has a female protagonist and I just don’t like reading stories with women leads” or “meh - it just doesn’t look interesting”. Jewelry that’d just sit on the shelf because “that chain’s kinda cheap, isn’t it?”

One of the last souvenirs I bought him was a soft-enough t-shirt from NASA. He said thanks, but gave the disappointed look. He said it just wasn’t what he was expecting (even though he requested a t-shirt from NASA before I left).  My son came in wearing the shirt he got from NASA. “Oh my god! That’s the one I wanted! Let me touch it. Dammit, too bad we’re not the same size.” He never wore the shirt I picked out for him.

The kicker is . . . I’m a fucking awesome gift-giver. I’m thoughtful and personal and crafty. I make gifts, I splurge on things I know they’ll love whether I can afford it or not, I make sure they understand that I got this particular gift because I was thinking of who they are and knew it’d have meaning to them. 

I’d lost some of this over the decades. It’s hard to invest time and energy when you know it’s going to be ill received.

But, I’m in a new relationship with a beautiful soul. He truly doesn’t care if I give him a gift or not, and certainly isn’t going to tell me what he wants, let alone make specific requests. He knows the gifts are symbols of love and is overjoyed by them, whether it’s something he’d want or not.

The first of his birthdays we celebrated together was one of those big ones; the ones that ends in zero. I showered him for days with thoughtful, little gifts, being able to finally return to that part of me that’d been in hiding for so many years. One of the gifts was a necklace. Without realizing it, I’d apologized about the quality of the chain before he even opened it up. I’d said I’d wished I’d been able to afford a nicer one. I’d said it’s ok with me if he wants to replace the chain with something nice, it was the rings that were on the chain that was the important part. I inhaled and didn’t exhale while he opened it. After a bunch of these excuses and apologies he finally said, “Heather, what is going on? I love it. The chain is fine. Do you really think I’d be anything other than overjoyed with this?” 

And there it was. The realization of how anxious I was. Of how conditioned I’d been to expect that every gift would be met with backlash and dissatisfaction and further reassurance that I was not and never would be good enough.

We’re working on it. My neuropathways haven’t fully reset. I just gave my love another birthday gift today and recognized the familiar anxiety and expectation that I’d disappoint. But I only made 2 comments seeking reassurance this time. So, that’s progress, right?