Learning to be the bigger person.
Ongoing lessons from a fellow work-in-progress.
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Being the bigger person is not easy. I know this because I tend to be very petty.
I have the good sense to be slightly embarrassed by this, but I also recognize that it makes me a human being to have these feelings. Pettiness is incredibly intoxicating, and I often confused the satisfaction I gained from being petty as emotional validation that I was doing the right thing. Maybe you can relate to this, but it is a part of my ever-evolving journey toward feeling “whole”. I don’t think I’ll ever be truly “healed,” but I am constantly in various states of “healing”. There have been years and seasons of self-awareness and likewise, seasons of resentment, pettiness and personal pain.
Hopefully reading this will remind you of a few things:
If you too have struggled with being the bigger person—you’re not alone.
No one is perfect—even your therapist.
You can know better and still need to do better. When you realize this is when you start to really change.
I’ve been thinking about my foray into extreme pettiness as I reflect on my relationship with my mother. This relationship has been and probably will always be a learning moment for me. Some context: For as long as I can remember, I have struggled in my relationship with my mother. Sometimes I’ve felt an utter and complete vital connection with her, and then others where I’ve felt dismissed, invalidated and worn down. It’s hard to put words to this when our relationship continues to evolve.
It’s a complex love that I’m gaining new perspectives on as I’ve recently become a mother myself. There are a multitude of reasons why our relationship ebbs and flows the way it does, and a lot of that comes down to our history and our respective experiences (trauma, chronic stress, etc. etc).
That being said, there have been many times that the language she’s used towards me and about me has felt insensitive, harmful and deeply rooted in her own overwhelm and pain. Generational trauma at its finest.
This has been (and sometimes still is) a constant stressor for me.
With her, whenever I felt attacked, I snapped back. I harboured resentment. I vented to my friends and partner about it. I spent countless therapy sessions fighting against the reality that I can’t make her change. I love her deeply — I wanted her validation, yet never really knew how to get it.
So what did I do in response? I was petty. Being “the bigger person” felt like a personal attack. Why should I take the high road, when I’ve been harmed? Why does she get to say just what she feels like and I have to do all the work? Why can’t I be the immature person for once?
I would say things to myself like: I’m just matching her energy. I’m giving back exactly what I get. I’m not perfect. I don’t always have to be “the bigger person”.
This mindset is problematic at best and contributed 100% to the breakdowns that we’ve had in communication and connection. I will say that it wasn’t all petty. As I’ve grown into myself and my experience as a therapist, I’ve learned and collected tools that have supported making different (not necessarily better!) decisions around how I respond when I feel attacked and worn down.
There have been pivotal moments where I would share how I felt. I would express my concerns and resentment and put it all out there. Then like clockwork, we’d have a blazing argument, then a tender reconciliation, ending with the hope that things might actually get better between us. For real this time.
Ultimately change happened for a day or a week, sometimes even in waves for months at a time. But they would eventually return to the way they were. For the both of us.
I’m a sensitive gal. It’s made me a good therapist, but it also gets in the way of emotional clarity when I’m in the thick of it. So sensitive, it was and sometimes still is hard for me to step out of my own head and communicate when things get intense.
When my mother and I would argue, I struggled with coming to terms with the reality that she didn’t have the same tools I have to express herself. I was constantly battling with myself: “She didn’t mean it” vs. “It’s not the intention that matters; it’s the impact.” I forever teetered the balance between being a therapist in my relationship with her and simply being her daughter. It’s hard to be both.
The emotional burden of being the bigger person is tiring.
Holding the truth that there isn’t just one way forward is complicated and stressful. Holding the truth that there isn’t just one villain in this story is tough. And you know what felt good in response to that stress? Releasing tension in problematic ways. Aka being petty and resentful. Alas, the cycle continued.
I’m sure many of you are wondering: Why do I go through this cycle again and again? I’ve wondered that too. Sometimes I think our relationship has been defined by conflict. Perhaps we don’t know how to connect without falling into the traps we lay for each other. We both still have a lot of work to do.
However, because I love her and am committed to my growth and healing process with her, I’m in this for the long haul. Although there are times when setting a boundary and cutting people (including family members) out of my life has seemed like a viable option, it’s not the option I’ve ever been comfortable taking in this instance. My relationship with my mother has many layers of complexity. A blunt tool like no or low contact is not the solution for me in this case (although I will be the first to admit there are some cases where it certainly is).
So how do I heal and move forward? I’m still working on that part. However, I know I cannot heal the wound of invalidation by only leaning into anger and resentment. It’s a comfortable place to be sometimes, living in anger. But comfort isn’t the path toward my ongoing healing here.
No matter how much I hate to admit it, I ultimately am responsible for how I respond. I am the one who is in control of the ways I show up in my relationships. And to be perfectly honest, I do value taking the high road, even when it’s hard to do. So I need to show up in my values instead of waiting for others to show up in theirs first.
I have learned that true healing starts to emerge when I’m the least comfortable. To be specific: healing and feeling whole has come when I acknowledge the grief that comes with the acceptance that we might not ever get what we need from the people we want it from most.
Some prompts that I’ve been reflecting on lately are:
When I respond in anger, what benefit or satisfaction does that offer me? How can I reinforce other tools to communicate without resentment?
Am I responding from a place of presence or pain? What helps me to stay self-aware?
What relationships can I pour into that honour honest and meaningful interactions?
Growing up, what did I notice about my family’s communication style? How was frustration communicated?
Is there an unexpressed boundary I need to share with someone? What’s holding me back from doing so?
If you also have a complicated relationship with a family member or struggle with being the bigger person sometimes, I see you. The messy middle of healing isn’t an easy place to be. Keep going. From my own experiences, the process is the payoff. Growth is cumulative, not step-wise.
Until next time,
Meg