David McElroy

making sense of a dysfunctional culture

‘I know who you are,’ she said. ‘Do you know who you really are?’

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Until I dreamed about her Friday night, I hadn’t thought about this woman for more than two years. But as soon as I saw her eyes in the dream — and then felt her hands reach out for me — I knew who she was. She was a stranger who had spoken strange words to me in a store.

It happened in October 2016. I told the story to my Facebook friends at the time, and I looked up my notes about it this morning. I was in the pharmacy section of Walmart when a frail and elderly black lady approached me and said gently, “Would you still marry her if you could?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you must have me mistaken for some other ugly fellow,” I said, trying to make light of it, “because I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She put her hand on my arm firmly and pulled herself close to look up into my eyes intently.

“I know who you are,” she said with a sweet smile. “Do you know who you really are?”

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A childhood belief haunts me: unless I’m perfect, I’m unloved

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You and I are held captive by unconscious beliefs we learned as children.

We all learned different things — depending on our families and how we were treated — but we all internalized ideas that became our core beliefs about ourselves. These beliefs help us to survive as children and become our defense mechanisms. They’re like silent background instructions telling us how to survive and get our needs met.

But then we grow up and keep living as though our simplistic childhood beliefs are actually true. In this way, our childhood defenses turn into adult blind spots that can make us miserable — and we don’t even know we’re doing it.

I’ve recently learned something interesting. If I know enough about your personality, I can go a long way toward determining which false beliefs you learned about yourself. Our secrets aren’t as hidden as we think they are.

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Need for love drives behaviors; for me, old needs make me eat

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I am not hungry right now. But I desperately want to eat.

I’m a rational man and I understand this pattern. I understand a good bit about human psychology and much more about my own psychology. I’m not stupid. So I know what’s going on.

For hours now, though, I’ve been fighting the compulsion to eat. There’s nothing in particular I want. It could be a hamburger. It could be some chicken. A hunk of cheese would be fine. Maybe some fries or pizza. It doesn’t matter what it is.

I’m not the least bit hungry. I’m certain of that. But there’s a gnawing emptiness inside that something in my gut interprets as a craving to be filled. The rational part of me knows food wouldn’t make any difference, but some irrational part of my brain thinks food would make this emptiness go away.

That child-like core doesn’t listen when I whisper, “No, you’re not hungry. You just need to be loved.”

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