NdukuOutLoud

On learning to burn without the Debris

I can’t always say when it starts. Maybe I don’t even know if it’s been here all my life, or if the lack of it is why I didn’t start to work on reaching my full potential sooner. But I have just realised this, and I am not sure if I am impressed or worried.

I have just discovered that I do my best work when disappointed or let down by the people I love. Specifically, by an intimate partner.

And I know I am not the only one. There’s score of examples either from things we’ve done ourselves or stories that we’ve heard. We aren’t necessarily intentional about it. But the pattern is undeniable.

It’s what psychologists call “Spite-Driven Motivation” -that extrinsic fire that feels like it’s burning in your marrow. It’s the classic counter-narrative: you get in shape because an ex body-shamed you; you go back to school to prove the naysayers wrong; you buy that house just to show the aunt who let you sleep on her couch that you never needed her charity, anyway.

Then there is “Reactive Autonomy.” When connection feels shaky, the ego feels threatened. And the moment that threat lands, we shift into “I am better on my own” mode. It is a by product of the need for control- a desperate urge to grab the steering wheel when things in our intimate lives feel like they’re drifting. If we can’t control the love, we’ll damn well control the output.

So, by focusing on productivity, work, or personal projects- this you can control- to prove to yourself that you are not powerless.

But what happens when there is no more disappointment? What happens when we are finally loved well, and there isn’t enough friction to spark the flame? Do we just stop?

That is the danger of relying on an external catalyst. If this becomes the only way to get moving, we risk becoming dangerous architects. We start subconsciously creating the very wreckage we need to climb out of, just to feel the rush of the ascent.

It’s a hell of a way to live.

It is terrifying to think that if we finally find the calm, peaceful love we yearn for, it might be the end of our pursuit of everything else. The even deeper fear is that we might be capable of sabotaging that peace just to get our fire back.

We see it in others, too—so many women who have scaled mountains just to prove they don’t need anyone else. If it gets them moving, then who are we to judge? But the question remains: what happens when the peace actually arrives? When the drama fades and there is no one left to prove wrong?

Who do we become then?

I suspect the real work begins when the fire stops needing an external match—when we learn to burn just as brightly in the silence of being loved as we do in the chaos of being let down.

I am not there yet. If anything, I have only just realised that I rely on external matches. And so now the real work begins. Learning how to build a fire that doesn’t rely on the wreckage of yesterday to stay lit. Learning, and finding a sustainable way to keep it burning.