I seriously (seriously) hate the word “detachment.” I mean, as a word, it’s fine: three syllables and all of that.
But it’s meaning means so much to me.
Though I suppose it’s how you look at it.
Detachment, to me, means cold, uncaring. To Merriam-Webster, it means objective.
And to Beattie, it means recovery. Detachment means strengthening our healthy relationships, weakening our toxic ones, and above all – letting you do you. EEEEK.
So, okay. Part of me is like, “Woohoo! Me time!” And the other part of me is like, “But…um. What do I do now?” I experienced this tonight with a friend of mine who seemed to be having a rough time. I told him not to be so sad; that if it kept up I’d have to fix his problem for him.
And then a lightbulb not only went on, it shattered on my head. And I sort of discovered that I didn’t want to be that person anymore, the savior of every sad person on earth. But when something’s so ingrained, it’s hard to break free of it. So while I could certainly listen to my friend, and maybe help him a little bit… some of that I’d have to let him experience fully on his own without me trying to soften that blow.
But, really, do we have to use the word detachment? Can’t we go all George Orwell’s 1984 on that bitch and call it “unreattachment” or something?