Rewriting the Rules of Belonging

You get to make your own

Outsider-y otherness has dogged me at gatherings lately. I’m included in many activities, by many people, yet somehow sense I’m “the extra person” in the room. Lots of fun, little intimacy. Have you experienced this surreal feeling of being inside, yet outside?

The more I can be gentle about my own feelings, the more I am able to separate these feelings from reality. I am able to explore the possibility that in groups, a lot people stay at the surface of things, where it seems safe and comfortable. They reference inside jokes, past gatherings, and secrets to help themselves feel like they belong, not to make me feel “extra” or outside. What’s happening may not be about me, and, in fact, I am unlikely to be the only person sensing a lack of deep connection at fun but shallow events.

So I’ve had to ask myself what’s actually going on with my feeling of un-belonging. Is it my old programming rearing its head, or is my lack of belonging real?

This has given rise to a whole host of questions:

• What makes us belong?

• How do we know when we do?

• How do we feel it, deep in our bones?

• Is belonging something gifted to us, bestowed by others?

• Or is it our choice to belong, based on our perception of how we feel?

• Can we re-write the rules so that we can create our own belonging anywhere, any time, with anyone, and authentically feel it?

Struggles with Belonging

Last week, I wrote about The Care and Tending of the Whole Human, and pointed out that play is crucial to our wellbeing, in addition to being something I thought for years was not for adults. To dig into that further, I originally planned to write about the Science of Play this week.

Play requires interaction and connection, spontaneity, fun, and humor. So my creeping sense of un-belonging today, means that writing about play might be somewhat inauthentic. Instead I have to ponder the connection side of the equation.

The clearer I am that I want to consciously create connection in my life, the more ownership I can take over making it happen.

Yet like many people, belonging is something I’ve always struggled with. Perhaps you can relate.

As a child, I stuck out as a “Yankee” and as the “poor kid” at a Southern, all-girls, private school. I had a dancer mom and artist dad, instead of the doctor, lawyer, banker, or CEO parentals of my peers. I wore hand-me-down clothes, my parents cut my hair (I had Spock bangs in second grade, thanks Dad!), and in a lot of ways I was just plain weird.

I liked books a little too much, sports not at all, got lost in daydreams, and, according to girls at school, had a loud, braying laugh that sounded something like “Geek, Geek, Gawk,” but if a duck were squawking the words through a bullhorn. I still remember the jeers.

Over the years I continued to stick out in many ways. There was my “awkward new kid” status at not one, but two Maine middle schools after my family moved North. And my six-inch growth spurt in the winter of seventh grade left me with bare ankles for five cold months as I continued to grow out of new pants!

In high school, I stuck out for being tall and curvaceous, with boys popping up with crushes all of a sudden. I also stuck out for having being overly organized, asking tons of questions, and being intense about grades.

In some ways my new ways of sticking out were nice, and I wound up feeling well liked, being in the junior Prom Court, and playing the role of Juliet in Shakespeare’s classic. In other ways, being different was hard. I had a steady boyfriend, which was fun, but made my single girlfriends leave me out of plans all the time. As an adult, I look back and think they assumed I was already busy. At fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen years old, it felt like I was being pushed out of the nest.

I reacted by leaning into the things that made me feel “better than,” which was a definition of worthiness that I thought had nothing to do with belonging, as if I could side-step my feelings. If I could get better grades, earn acceptance at top schools, and prove I was great, it would make the lack of belonging matter less. But this approach only added to feelings of separateness, not worthiness, as I distinguished myself through difference.

And over the course of my adulthood there have been many more times I felt nestless.

At one job only the clear-glasses creatives were “in.” At another, only the PhD Economists. At a third, only the 25-year company veterans seemed to fit.

As I progressed my career, reached new leadership levels, led healthy teams, studied psychological safety, helped build it for others, and had a lot of inside access as a strategist working with executives, belonging still only sometimes felt mine.

Meanwhile, I moved from city to city for work. I made new friends while watching friends in old cities grow closer to each other. I found myself far away, feeling out of the loop. I missed group vacations, as my long-distance locations meant I wasn’t included in weekend getaways. Former work friendships faded into “former colleagues.” I was invited to weddings but not as a bridesmaid, even when all my old friends were in the wedding party—at least the friends still in that job or that city. Over time it felt like a story that stuck with me: I was always on a branch near the nest, but not in it. Could I ever be?

Today, one year into living in a new location again, I still find the unease of being nestless rearing its head, as various new friendships are growing, changing, solidifying, or breaking-apart, while far away relationships shift in the same familiar ways that distance creates.

But I’m tired of questioning my belonging. I want to re-write the rules.

What Makes Us Belong & How Do We Know When We Do?

Feelings about not belonging trip most of us up, at least once in a while. We think we don’t belong because we lack something important. And it may be the case that we may not “fit” the mould in a particular place or group, but when we really look at the definition of belonging, it’s “an affinity for a place or a situation.” That means it’s our sense of affinity that matters. Others may try to decide whether we belong or not, but it’s our decision, really.

True belonging not based on being “creative enough,” or “analytical enough” or “a veteran employee.” It’s not based on knowing the inside jokes, or the secrets of the person next to you. It’s not based on being pretty or tall or having the right kind of clothes—or laugh. It’s not based on history and it’s not based on “sparks.”

Belonging is based on being in a place, or group, that you believe is right for you. “I belong here,” is up to you.

Of course it’s not easy to get there. Brene Brown says of her research, “studying connection was a simple idea, but before I knew it, I had been hijacked by my research participants who, when asked to talk about their most important relationships and experiences of connection, kept telling me about heartbreak, betrayal and shame—the fear of not being worthy of real connection.”

Along the way, she realized that “people who are able to cultivate resilience in the face of the belief that we’re not enough—that we’re not worthy of love and belonging—all have something in common: the ability to live wholeheartedly.”

“Wholehearted living is about engaging in our lives from a place of worthiness. It means cultivating the courage, compassion, and connection to wake up in the morning and think… I am enough,” Brown says.

The belief that we are worthy of love and belonging is the only difference she found between those who feel lovable, who love, and who experience belonging, from those who don’t.

And the primary way in which that belief came into play in their lives is that they focused on living in courage, compassion, and connection, which they knew required of them one thing: vulnerability.

If we distill this idea to its essence: we belong when we believe we are worthy of it, and that takes vulnerability.

It can be incredibly hard to act as if we are enough and hope no one contradicts us. To go all in and hope we’re not rejected. It means we put our whole self on the line and accept that we might win or we might fail. But our willingness to try is what matters.

While that’s hard, there is good news. We can find ways to practice vulnerability all the time, and get better at it bit by bit. We grow in our belief of worthiness—just as we are—when we find practices that allow us to be true to ourselves, our humanity, our needs, our joys and our weirdnesses without listening to outside opinions, “shoulds,” and expectations.

The fact is, as much as belonging is sometimes a struggle, I also know I am worthy. There are people with whom I am certain I fit. And I have no doubt that we all belong. We all have gifts to give, wherever we go.

Intellectually, it’s clear. And many times I’ve felt it.

So how do I recreate that feeling on demand?

Feeling Belonging in My Bones

Have you ever been to a party where the host made everybody feel absolutely crystal clear that they belonged there, in that place, with that group, at that very moment?

I remember as a kid there were a few particularly open-hearted, warm, bigly loving women in my parents’ church who had the magic to make me feel there was nobody they wanted to darken their door more than me. Little, shy, weird, ME! I basked in their attentions, my downcast eyes brightening, hesitant smile widening slowly, as I melted into a soft, pillowy hug. In those moments, I felt belonging in my bones.

As an adult, there have been a few of these bigly hosts as well. A friend who can make people feel like award-winners when they accept her invitation for dinner. A gregarious boss who made team time a dream. And I can think of a couple of retreat hosts who welcomed guests with a combination of gravitas, joy, and curiosity that transformed groups from strangers into soul-mates in the course of a week.

These inclusive folks may have been exceptions, but they don’t have to be.

Priya Parker, author of The Art of Gathering says that her career as a facilitator has focused on “studying, designing, and advising gatherings whose goals were to be transformative for the people involved and the communities they were trying to affect… to put the right people in a room and help them to collectively think, dream, argue, heal, envision, trust, and connect for a specific larger purpose… to help people experience a sense of belonging.”

Parker advises us to create clear, specific, unique purposes for our gatherings, so distinctive as to be potentially divisive, as well as definitely meaningful. She then tells us to interrogate every other aspect of our gathering to ensure it delivers on our purpose.

Our why leads to the where and when, who and how, and what. When we make choices in order to drive a singular experience, one which facilitates belonging and purpose, we imbue the knowledge among participants that they are cared for with intention. They can relax.

Parker also tell us to be the ruler of our gatherings. And if we rule, then we must be specific kind of ruler: “a generous authority,” who runs the gathering with a “strong, confident hand, but selflessly.”

She recommends protecting the guests by setting boundaries or guidelines and enforcing them, then equalizing the guests in ways that remove external hierarchy and power structures while everyone is within the room, and finally, connecting guests to each other in simple but explicit ways that highlight things they have in common and gives them opportunities to know one another quickly but deeply.

This advice goes for a dinner party as much as a company offsite, a hike with friends or an ideation session for a poverty-action committee of local activists rubbing shoulders with highly-paid World Bank leaders.

We can all create this kind of belonging among groups with the right effort and intent.

Making My Own Belonging

If Brene Brown argues that belonging is created by our beliefs and our willingness to be vulnerable, and if Priya Parker says it’s possible for a host to create belonging among guests through a series of intentional steps, then what if I could blend these ideas to create a few new rules for myself to build a sense of belonging wherever I go, whomever I am with, and whatever happens?

Since I feel the most worthy when I satisfy my own need for acceptance, accomplishment and valuing, it’s important to start by cultivating my internal sense of worth. When I reject the search for external validation and go inward, I find peace within.

And for the times when the external worries still creep in, perhaps I can use the tactics of a good host to create some alternatives.

New Rules of Belonging

I will come to relationships and gatherings with:

Intentionality: When I bring intentionality to my activities, I calm the anxious child within with a sense of support. It’s from this perspective that my new rules for belonging stem.

Purpose: When I operate from a sense of purpose about what I am doing, I am far more likely to feel I’m in the right place, doing the right things, and less likely to worry about how others see me. As I recently posted about, I lean into the idea that my purpose is to be alive and to be a part of the aliveness of all things, which shifts the energy I bring to become more open, loving, energized, and generous. It de-personalizes what happens.

Protection: I establish boundaries and hold them. When I don’t speak my needs, or when I let my boundaries slide, I disconnect from myself and don’t feel that I belong—even to me. When I do stay clear about what treatment I deserve and am willing to accept, upholding this through words and actions, I show myself that I belong to me, and that therefore I belong wherever I am.

Equalize: When I see others as my equals, I know that the value of what I can contribute is not related to any hierarchy, status, or power structure, but instead is simply about person-to-person caring and sharing. I don’t need external accolades to make me feel “better than,” nor do other people’s status (as insiders, bosses, employees, leaders, newbies, award winners and beyond) get to influence how I treat them or show up.

Vulnerability: I’m willing to be me, with my limitations, weirds, magic, insights, truths, questions, messy feelings, desires and silliness. I don’t shame myself for who I am, how I am, or what I feel. I slip up, am sometimes awkward, laugh too loud, take up too much space—or not enough at times—stick my foot in it, embarrass myself, and still am enough. I am human, and it’s totally okay. That lets me put myself out there, again and again. I will show up.

An Open Heart: When we want something very badly, we may crush it by holding on too tight. When we hold our desires loosely, they remain cradled in our palm, safe but free. When it comes to belonging, I won’t hold tight to what I wish for relationships, gatherings, and signs of belonging. Relationships are always shifting and changing. I’ll keep an open heart and an open mind, allowing that what will be will be, and knowing it changes my worth not one bit.

Final Thoughts

I can’t say this is going to be comfortable all the time. I don’t think that’s what belonging is about. I don’t think we ever reach a place where we have a nirvana-style state of endless belonging with nothing further to worry about. But I do know that again and again I can return to my rules so I can play my own game.

Looking back to early 2022 during a solo trip through Latin America, I came to feel an enormous sense of self-belonging on the road. I brought an open heart to each new location, each new person I met, each new place I stayed, and each new adventure I had. In this way I was able to meet and connect with tons of people in beautiful ways, some temporary and some creating new long-term friendships. Life felt like a party.

I was able to experience this kind of self-belonging because I was intentionally curious, my primary purpose was learning and experiencing new things, the consequences for setting and holding boundaries were entirely positive in situations without long-standing or entrenched relationships, and my only option was to show up completely as myself, since there was no way to predict the expectations of others when I arrived somewhere new. In fact, it became quite clear that most people really didn’t have expectations for me, which was freeing. And in addition, most people embraced me as I was.

If I can continue to treat my life as one big party where I’m the host, in charge of creating many special moments, I can own my experience. This way, there is no “inner circle” to worry about among friends or colleagues, no nest to be kicked out of, no belonging to earn, no accolades required to become worthy—just other people to connect with in safe, equal, and curious ways. Shifting to this approach lets me be a gently authoritative host to myself, and I can belong wherever I go.

I’m going to bring my new rules of belonging out for a test run and see how it goes. I’ll report back soon.

Meanwhile, can you apply any of them in your life? What would you add to the list? How could you act on these ideas?

With a bigly hostess hug,

-Marisol