The Blessing of a Biting Text

Since my recent breakup, I know I’m not ready to date, but one biting text made me feel like I should avoid all men.

Here’s what happened.

Friday afternoon, a recently-separated friend of mine texted pictures of his Shabbat dinner in progress. I responded with glowing praise. I suggested next week we cook together and invite friends.

“Maybe. Let me think about it. OK?”

He then texted a photo of his final Shabbat feast, with a “Ta-dah! Shabbat Shalom.”

I enthusiastically replied, “Yummy! Excited to cook with you next week!”

He quickly pushed back, “I haven’t accepted your gracious invitation yet!”

Oh damn, I cringed. I hastily typed, “I’m sorry, you don’t have to accept.”

What I didn’t share was his response sent me straight to a pity party. My critical self-talk started hard and fast. “Stop being so pushy. Listen to his hesitation.”

And when I did, his reply punched me in the gut: “I know. Just let me marinate on the idea for a bit. And whatever you do, word to the wise — don’t ever try to bulldoze me on anything. It doesn’t work on me. Compassion and guilt work much better on me than force. I was brought up with way too much street in me to relent in the face of force from anyone.”

T R I G G E R ! I triggered him, but damn did he trigger me.

Tears of shame rushed down my face into the Challah dough I was braiding.

“Buuullll – dooozerrr” became my nickname ten years ago, when I founded the San Diego Chapter of the Israel advocacy organization, StandWithUs. My colleagues gave me that nickname because I was able to make anything happen, with little consideration for others. My Israeli colleagues understood me, but my American colleagues thought I was worse than an Israeli.

This man’s text painfully reminded me of my bulldozer nature. His reaction was a mirror to reflect on how my forceful approach can be too much.

But after I cursed and cried, I was grateful he chose to be real and raw. He didn’t attack me; he shared how my behavior made him feel.

Some of the greatest catalysts to transformative change come from painful exchanges. This one hurt, so I knew there was a lesson in it.

Some of the greatest catalysts to transformative change come from painful exchanges.

I wondered, why is our best character trait also our worst? Why are the yetzer hara, our evil inclination, and our yetzer hatov, our inclination to do good, so deeply intertwined?

My blessing and my curse are that I’m a “force of nature.”

I’m grateful for my gift, but I need to modulate it to not overpower others.

What if I could be like the wind — sometimes a gentle breeze and sometimes a roaring hurricane? Or the ocean, with high and low tides with the power to carve into the rock as well as reveal treasures in the sand?

In order to master my power, I need to set an intention of how to use it. My goal is to exude a strong, yet calm energy that inspires others to find their flow.

Over the last decade professionally, I have begun to do this work. I’ve consciously strived to be more intuitive, listen more, move with, and not push people.

Obviously, in my personal relationships, I’m still evolving. But I’m working on it.

For my 50th birthday gift to myself, I found a therapist. I’m committed to release past traumas and explore if fear causes me to be controlling.

As for my friend? Well, after Shabbat, he brought me leftovers and asked me to lunch. I said yes. I felt he had something to say. He did: He apologized if his response was hurtful. I had triggered him.

He said it’s too painful to celebrate Shabbat at another’s home. After a divorce, the pain of losing “home” is most poignant during Shabbat.

I understand. I’ve been there. I remember that sometimes it was easier to be alone and sad at my table than be at someone else’s joyful one.

No one could force him to feel safe. He wasn’t ready. I chose not to see that.

My lesson is not to avoid all men but to permanently park my bulldozer and be mindful of how I engage with everyone. To nurture relationships, I need to dance, not dominate, flow, not force, and most of all, be present and not pushy.

Audrey Jacobs is a financial adviser and has three sons.