This morning I saw my therapist, and we reviewed a number of my past and present relationships. This is something we do constantly, really, and something I never did before I had a therapist–analyze my relationships technically. By technically I mean that I don’t go in there and simply vent–what a bitch, what an asshole. Granted, this does happen on occasion, but for the most part I simply convey the facts. “This thing happened with so-and-so. I said this, and then they said that.” Then my therapist offers her thoughts. “That was real shitty [of them, of you]. That was passive aggressive.” Whatever.

I said in yesterday’s blog that I’ve consciously downshifted or ended a rather large number of relationships since starting therapy, and–honestly–I think this is why most of us are scared shitless to really take an a good hard look at our relationships. It’s why no one wants to open that one drawer in the kitchen or clean behind the refrigerator. Deep down, we know we’re not going to like what we find. We know we’re going to have some work to do. So we bury our heads in the sand. I know that when I first started therapy and realized that a number of my friendships and romantic relationships were inappropriate for me (my therapist often said, “You’re just not on the same page–er–same chapter”), I found myself not wanting to even bring up the people in my life for discussion. “You’re just going to shit on them,” I’d say. “You’re just going to say it’s a bad idea (to date someone in their twenties).”

Looking back, I now know that my hesitation to discuss certain relationships was my intuition’s way of saying those relationships weren’t meant to last forever. Or even a week. Like, I could have spent the money I gave my therapist elsewhere. That being said, it’s been invaluable to have a trained professional take an outside look at the people in my life. Now, she’s obviously never met these folks. She would say, “I couldn’t pick them out of a crowd of three.” She’s never heard their side of the story. But based on the stories I tell her she’s able to say, “You two have terrible boundaries” or “I see a lot of potential for you two.”

Today I said that my people pleaser often thinks I’ve–what’s the word?–escorted too many people out of my life. (I used to say “cut” too many people out of my life, but my therapist says that’s a rather violent word. “They made choices, you made choices,” she says.) Anyway, my therapist said, “You’re simply making space for more appropriate people.”

Then she added, “There’s only so much room on the train.”

Think about that.

I imagine that to some people the changes in relationships I’ve made could seem rather drastic. I started to make a list the other day of relationships that I’ve purposefully changed or ended since I started therapy but stopped once I got to double digits. One way to think about this, however, is that if you’re running a pattern like the people pleaser, that means every one of your relationships is connected to, if not a direct result of, that pattern. Well, if you do something like start therapy or otherwise decide you don’t want to be a people pleaser, guess what? That’s right, every relationship connected to that pattern has to shift. Now, I’ve personally had plenty of relationships shift along with me. These are the people you want, the ones who allow you to grow.

One thing my therapist says (that I don’t think I’ve shared before) is that relationships are like living organisms. “They grow, they thrive, they get sick, they heal, and sometimes they die,” she says. “And you know when a relationship is terminal.”

I love this way of looking at things. So often we think that we’re beholden to people simply because we’re related, because we’ve known them a since childhood, or because we have a lot of time or money invested. But as my therapist always says, “Friends are for fun.” This has often been the way I’ve known a relationship needs a break (because sometimes they do come back around)–when they become too heavy. Not that a serious conversation isn’t okay. It is. But personally, I have a therapist for my heavy shit, and this leaves me lighter, brighter for my friends and family.

I’ve often told my therapist that my goal in evaluating my relationships is to see as clearly as possible. I’ll explain with an example. Years ago I was in a relationship with a flat-out liar. I’ll spare you the details, but they lied all the time–about things they owned, how many miles were on their car, who mowed the lawn (I did), and having leukemia (they didn’t). Well, it’s not that I didn’t observe their lies; I just lied to myself about what they meant. I thought, They wouldn’t lie to me. My therapist explained, however, that I’m not that special. If someone lies to anyone, they lie to everyone. If you don’t believe that, you’re lying to yourself. Anyway, this is another “downside” to therapy and working on yourself–you start seeing people as they really are–flawed. This person’s a liar. That person’s passive aggressive. This person’s shallow as a wading pool. That person is only interested in your money.

I realize these judgments may sound–well–judgmental. In a sense, they are. In another sense, they aren’t–they’re facts. Also, you can only see others clearly to the extent you’re first willing to see yourself clearly. Like, I know when I lie–straight up to others or just to myself about what’s going on. I know when I’m passive aggressive or shallow as a wading pool. I know when I’m attracted to others simply because of their looks, status, or talent. None of these things are inherently bad, but they can be a problem if they become a daily driver. Getting back to seeing things as clearly as possible, this is why it sucks. (Did I not say that before? It sucks to see things clearly.) Because we have to admit not only that people we love aren’t perfect, but also that we’re not perfect.

We prefer our fantasies.

All this being said, I’ve reached the point that I’ll take seeing clearly–the truth–over fantasy. I’m not a card player, but it’s like if you were playing poker. Would you rather leave your cards face down the entire game (or just turn over three out of the five), or would you rather look at your entire hand even if it turned out to be mediocre? Obviously, you’d rather look at your entire hand–because then you can decide what to do with it. That’s the deal (get it, deal?)–just because someone’s not perfect doesn’t mean you can’t play with them. Certainly not. But only by getting real about 1) who you are, 2) who someone else is, and 3) who you are together can you really decide what you want and what you don’t want. Otherwise you’re deciding based on half-truths. Otherwise you’re deciding based on fiction.