Nina L. (ESI) — The Moral Compass of a Seeking Soul

Relationships and People Evaluation

Love is the main source of energy for me. I am used to the fact that I have to receive love and give love, otherwise I am as an empty jar.

I lacked tenderness and warmth in childhood. I really wanted my mother to hug me, to hold me close. Many years later, when my mother grew old, she told me that when I was a child, she was too shy to stroke my head—it just wasn’t a customary thing to do back then. When I found out, it completely turned me inside out; I realized what I had missed out on in childhood. Hugging and kissing are absolutely essential. I can't live without it. And I need a man who needs it just as much.

At work, I am constantly watching how people treat me. For instance, right now someone is friendly, but an hour later they give me a bad look—they must be thinking something bad about me. Something displeased them. I’ll go over, start a conversation, and check if they are angry or not. If they respond normally, then everything is fine.

I don’t have any female friends. Even in childhood, I ran away from girlfriends because I knew they weren't interesting. I have female acquaintances, and I value them for their care toward me. Sometimes they exhibit motherly tendencies. In that kind of care, I relax—that state of relaxation, I love it so much. I don’t like taking care of others myself; it irritates me.

I see flaws in people. I take the good for granted; it doesn’t move me. But I see the bad in everything: in actions, in appearance. I would have done it differently, acted differently, dressed differently. I want to improve everyone in every way: in daily life, in clothes, in discipline. If only I could dress them a bit better...

I want to transform people. If someone behaves badly, I get nervous, I get indignant, I feel ashamed for them—I suffer, and I try to tactfully make them realize what is happening. If it doesn't work, and I see it’s useless, I apologize and step aside.

What worries me most is when people behave in ways I consider wrong. When I ride the commuter train, I look around: this one is unpleasant, that one is bad, and this one over here is altogether suspicious—you can expect trouble from him, maybe he’ll dig into someone's bag or behave inappropriately in some other way. People spitting sunflower seed shells—I feel like making a remark, but I don't dare to, and it aches my soul. They should know how to behave properly themselves, and they should teach their children the same.

I treat people with caution.

<...> Interesting, substantive people interest me. Sometimes I catch someone from afar: "Aha, there’s a pleasant person!" I bring them close, but not for long; soon enough I understand them, I figure them out—not my type, so I push them away. I have a long-suffering nature, and I don't want to cause myself unnecessary pain.

I am constantly choosing people, never letting them get too close. If I feel that there used to be comfort, but now there isn't—I push them away. Or I position them in such a way that they don't expose this inner core of theirs in front of me. I don't need your issues—it irritates me. I try to distance myself, but without offending them. I’ll apologize, because I suffer from it. I don't care about them; I just need to unburden myself. I might never meet with that person again. I artificially create a defense mechanism and show the person: I don't need your baggage, it irritates me.

Mending a relationship with someone is not for them—it’s for myself, I need it.

My people: with me, they don’t lie, they don’t flatter—normal people.

<...> If someone helps me, I sincerely want to do something in return, but not with money; I part with money with difficulty. If someone doesn't help me, I boil inside: "I helped you. Why won't you help me?" At the same time, as a matter of principle, I refuse to talk about it. I push them away. I want to rub their nose in it, to crush them—it's a matter of principle: to show them what they are truly like, but I won't do it, otherwise a feeling of resentment will arise—I don't want that, it will be too heavy. Let them leave and stop unsettling me. If someone is a slacker—face down on the asphalt, I won't get involved with that person, they don't interest me.

I strive for my own peace of mind. Vulgarity and wrongness jump out at me, and I suffer because of it. I tell myself: "This doesn't concern you, walk away. There are people who are just not yours. You don't need to change anyone. Look upon them with humility and indifference. This person does not suit you. Don't look for the negative, strive to accept."

I am a thinking, searching person; I need emotional comfort, I need peace in my soul.

At any moment, I need to be free so that I can slip away from emotional pain. If a person doesn't suit me—if they irritate me—I need to leave. I love to be in free flight at any given moment; personal freedom is vital.

Reliability and Accountability

I am a responsible and reliable person. Inside, the word "must" echoes constantly, but I try to avoid it. I translate "must" into "want," reframing it into a state of pleasure.

<...> I believe that not a single person can be reliable, except myself. In a difficult moment, nobody will help me. I learned this a long time ago. If you rely on someone, they will definitely let you down. Just so you can’t hold anyone accountable—I rely on myself, I have no expectations of anyone.

<...> I have a strong will. I force myself to walk, to exercise, to work out with dumbbells—just so my muscles don't "sag."

If anyone around me gets sick, I won’t coddle them; I force them to get up, I give them massages, and I instill in them the belief that they will stand up, filling them with self-confidence. "You have the resources inside you; you just need to wake them up," I say. A person needs to be convinced that it's there. "Go outside, let's go for a run—all your knee pain will go away." If a person surrenders themselves to the process, I am with them. If they don't want it, I leave, detaching myself with incredible force.

Aesthetics, Status, and Evaluation via Appearance

I like it when people are neatly dressed, when their clothes are well-matched, when they are dressed decently. The clothes shouldn't be too cheap; people should dress well. I can see what suits whom and what doesn't. I look and think: "What on earth is she wearing... you just can't do that!" If a person is decently dressed, their opinion carries more weight. The decisive factors in evaluating people are how they behave, their intelligence, and their talent.

<...> It is important for me to dress beautifully. My mood depends on my clothes. I try to look good mostly for myself. If I look good, my mood is lifted; if I look bad, I feel a slump in energy and don't feel like doing anything. If I look bad, I need to make sure nobody sees it.

I will only listen to fashion advice from someone who looks good themselves. If I like an outfit, I can tolerate some discomfort: if it's uncomfortable, or if the shoes pinch—I won't notice, the main thing is for it to be beautiful. In childhood, when guests came over, I would approach and talk only to those who were beautifully dressed. I tried to avoid those who were poorly dressed and, naturally, unfamiliar.

Energy Management, Kinetic Action, and Solitude

Without work, I lose a lot of energy. I often lose a lot of energy. A drop in energy brings a dip in my mood. I know I should do something, but I can't. If I can't do chores at home, I go out among people and do things there: I push the hostess into the background—I feel I can do it better. I am happy when I’ve done a job well, and it doesn't matter whether I am among strangers or not. After that, I am back in a working mindset, and I can do chores at home too—it brings satisfaction, and my mood improves. I love rearranging furniture.

All my life, I have been terribly fond of dancing. It always lifts my mood.

I don’t like the sauna—I love the state after the sauna. I don’t like running—I love the state after running. In these states, my soul rests.

Being alone is sometimes very important. The fence at my dacha is not quite what it should be. It needs to be a solid wall, to screen myself off completely so that nobody can see anything.

I often crave solitude, just to stay at home. But as my irritation with people fades, I need to socialize again.

If there is a drop in energy and a kind of gloom creeps into my soul, I lift it up, I shake myself out. "Alright, nobody is going to help you," I tell myself, and I go to the child, interact, and feel whether it mends my soul or not—if it doesn't, I leave. I love children because you can give them back to their mother later. I’ve played with them, coddled them while they are pleasant to be around, but once the negativity starts—give them back. I can't do it for long.

Source: How to Raise a Child Without Complexes by O. Mikhevnina