I am a Too Much Woman.
Ev’yan writes: “Oh, that “too much” woman. . . too loud, too vibrant, too honest, too emotional, too smart, too intense, too pretty, too difficult, too sensitive, too wild, too intimidating, too successful, too fat, too strong, too political, too joyous, too needy — too much.
She should simmer down a bit, be taken down a couple notches. Someone should put her back in a more respectable place. Someone should tell her.”
I am a Too Much woman. I have been told, and have been put in my place. I do not rise, I abide. I carry on. I endure. I bring this pain around in my skin, robbed of meaningful connections and accomplishments because I was only “tolerated” until I had exhausted my usefulness.
I am Too Much for people to deal with. I’ve been told. I’ve lost so many beautiful and important things because of this. I take up too much space. I think myself more important than what I really am. I think I am going to die, quietly, no longer much of anything at all. I think I’ve faded so much over the years that I only recognize the parts of me that people hate.
Its all very well and good, being encouraged to be myself and to realize my vast potential — but it’s so heartbreaking to be myself and rejected Over and over and over and over again for being exactly, no more or no less, myself.
Am I that toxic that nobody can stand to be around me for more than a few months? Am I that broken and unlovable that I am impermanent in the lives of everyone I meet? I never used to think so. I never thought I would have these thoughts, or ask these questions, or feel this dullness.
I never see it coming, either. I am never prepared to move on as early as I need to. As soon as it comes though, I’m on autopilot. I suddenly am at peace with the decision to part ways, no matter how one-sided and petty it may be. It’s happened so many times that I’m just another suitcase in another hall. As Evita (Lloyd Webber-Rice) said, I “never fooled myself that my dreams will come true. Being used to trouble, I anticipate it — but all the same I hate it… wouldn’t you? So what happens now? Where am I going to?”
2019 was a hard year for me. I lost so much, gained so little. I went through so much, celebrated so little. 2019 was Too Much for me, in many ways. I am now plunged once more into the unknown, and I’m numb. I’ve lost all hope of ever finding people who may understand me, who may appreciate ALL of me — rather than weighing me against a standard that I will never be able to meet.
I am Too Much for many people. Times like these, I am Too Much for even myself. Then I look at my son. I am not Too Much for him. In fact, he cannot get enough of me. He loves talking to me, playing with me, learning from me. He takes my advice and follows my instructions, he shows me affection and vies for my attention above anyone else’s. I don’t know how to break it to him that I’m such a failure of a human being. That there are people out there who do not want me around them. That there are reasons for people to feel this way.
I do not know how to tell him that I am once again set adrift, and that I do not know how I am going to protect him. He is young enough to not think of me as Too Much. He is beautiful enough to see me as Just Enough. As Exactly What He Needs. I hope I will never be Too Much for him.