In a world where we’re often judged harshly for identifying and revealing our needs, doing so can be very frightening. Women, in particular, are susceptible to criticism. For centuries, the image of the loving woman has been associated with sacrifice and the denial of one’s own needs to take care of others. Because women are socialized to view the caretaking of others as their highest duty, they often learn to ignore their own needs.
At one workshop, we discussed what happens to women who internalize such beliefs. These women, if they ask for what they want, will often do so in a way that both reflects and reinforces the beliefs that they have no genuine right to their needs and that their needs are unimportant. For example, because she is fearful of asking for what she needs, a woman may fail to simply say that she’s had a busy day, is feeling tired, and wants some time in the evening to herself; instead, her words come out sounding like a legal case: “You know I haven’t had a moment to myself all day. I ironed all the shirts, did the whole week’s laundry, took the dog to the vet, made dinner, packed the lunches, and called all the neighbors about the block meeting, so [imploringly] … so how about if you … ?”
“No!” comes the swift response. Her plaintive request elicits resistance rather than compassion from her listeners. They have difficulty hearing and valuing the needs behind her pleas, and furthermore react negatively to her weak attempt to argue from a position of what she “should” get or “deserves” to get from them. In the end the speaker is again persuaded that her needs don’t matter, not realizing that they were expressed in a way unlikely to draw a positive response.
My mother was once at a workshop where other women were discussing how frightening it was to be expressing their needs. Suddenly she got up and left the room, and didn’t return for a long time. She finally reappeared, looking very pale. In the presence of the group, I asked, “Mother, are you all right?”
“Yes,” she answered, “but I just had a sudden realization that’s very hard for me to take in.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve just become aware that for thirty-six years, I was angry with your father for not meeting my needs, and now I realize that I never once clearly told him what I needed.”
My mother’s revelation was accurate. Not one time, that I can remember, did she clearly express her needs to my father. She’d hint around and go through all kinds of convolutions, but never would she ask directly for what she needed.
We tried to understand why it was so hard for her to have done so. My mother grew up in an economically impoverished family. She recalled asking for things as a child and being admonished by her brothers and sisters, “You shouldn’t ask for that! You know we’re poor. Do you think you are the only person in the family?” Eventually she grew to fear that asking for what she needed would only lead to disapproval and judgment.
She related a childhood anecdote about one of her sisters who had had an appendix operation and afterwards had been given a beautiful little purse by another sister. My mother was fourteen at the time. Oh, how she yearned to have an exquisitely beaded purse like her sister’s, but she dared not open her mouth. So guess what? She feigned a pain in her side and went the whole way with her story. Her family took her to several doctors. They were unable to produce a diagnosis and so opted for exploratory surgery. It had been a bold gamble on my mother’s part, but it worked—she was given an identical little purse! When she received the coveted purse, my mother was elated despite being in physical agony from the surgery. Two nurses came in and one stuck a thermometer in her mouth. My mother said, “Ummm, ummm,” to show the purse to the second nurse, who answered, “Oh, for me? Why, thank you!” and took the purse! My mother was at a loss, and never figured out how to say, “I didn’t mean to give it to you. Please return it to me.” Her story poignantly reveals how painful it can be when people don’t openly acknowledge their needs.