Being OK Being Me
When we seek to discover the best in others,
we somehow bring out the best in ourselves.
- William Arthur Ward
Why I can remember this instance better than I can remember what I ate yesterday is beyond me?! Perhaps because it left an indelible mark on me, one I'm not sure I'll ever shake. It happened more times than I could count. The start of the cold shoulder and then the sudden...silence. You never knew who was in on it and who wasn't. Most days it would disappear as soon as it started. You tell me how that type of behavior as you are shaping who you are in adolescence doesn't take a toll on you in some way?
That's why, the day it happened to one of my own girls, I felt immediately sick. A kind of sick from which I wasn't sure how to recover. I remember uttering over and over in my mind, no, no, no...not this. The worst was when I returned home from work to find my daughter curled on the couch, in a full-on pity war. I'm not going to even call it a party because it was far worse, and not fun like a party should be.
"What did I do, mom?" She asked through a blanket over her head. "She won't even talk to me."
Years later, those days came flashing back, like I'm still there. The truth is, neither of us did anything wrong. Not her and not my 12-year-old self. We simply just...showed up. Yet, it's taken me years of reflection, therapy, and forgiveness to learn what actually happened was that I showed up as me, and not everyone is OK with that. At 12, I was less than OK with that.
I was raised in a two-income household. My mother worked the majority of the time while I was growing up. My siblings were quite a bit older than me, which left me to lots of alone playtime. I don't fault anyone for that because it gave me quite an imagination. That same imagination today serves me well in my career. I had a very happy and loving household. I call it a very sitcom-worthy upbringing, somewhere between way too normal and just odd enough to be comical.
I was never afraid of attention. I can't explain why as I was most often a shy child. Maybe it was all those big family gatherings where you had to be boisterous to get anyone's attention. I prefer to think some of it was being the youngest. I made an everyday occurrence of humor and a flair for the dramatic. I always had a way of standing out in a crowd. I'm not sure where the self-confidence came from, but for a completely geeky teenager, with HUGE glasses, I pretended I had more of it than most. It was only until I was about to enter college that I realized that confidence wasn't necessarily seen as a gift by all.
The truth is, I hid on stages. Behind microphones, in sequinned costumes, singing and performing, always playing a character. It was safer that way. I began to get the idea people didn't like the "real" me and therefore, presenting a safer version kept me within arm's reach to the pain girls could inflict. I made it out as unscathed as possible, my sanity somewhat intact.
"It comes so easy to you," I remember one friend said. Little did she know I was also the girl at home building myself up every day just to get out the door. I guess I did it better than most. Plus, I had a boyfriend, who once he got past that I asked him out first, was a professional at building me up. In fact, he was so good at it, I promoted him to husband.
Now as I was faced with that same feeling, the memory of that middle school gym playing out before me as my daughter sulked underneath the blanket, I wanted to say everything no one ever said to my 12-year-old self. You are enough. Not everyone will like you. You didn't do anything wrong. Talk to your friend. Talk until you both make a pact you will never believe a thing about the other until you talk to each other directly. Don't be afraid to be you.
That's exactly what I did and you know what? It didn't matter. As parents, we have to let these things play out on our own for our children. We cannot intervene on everything in their lives, as much as we would like to. What would I be teaching her if I solved all of her troubles? That is not the child I am raising. My mother did not do that for me. Did it hurt? Most definitely. It was awful, and every day I prayed it would get better or would suddenly just go away.
As much as I wanted to, and oh I wanted to, I didn't intervene. Instead, I held her through heartbreak. I treated her to ice cream on the really bad days. I even served as a frequent distraction when she needed one. I know this incident is like my middle school volleyball practice one; a memory that will live with her far longer than is necessary. Perhaps as parents and children both, we are meant to survive these types of challenges so we are stronger because of them.
Today, we smile a little bit when we talk about this, not quite ready to laugh. The hurt is still there some days, a little like it's there for me 30+ years later. I see the growing confidence in my daughter that I saw in myself. The confidence that almost scared dad-of-the-year out of asking me out. I see now that while I wanted to intervene to save a friendship, by not doing so, confidence grew. Along with knowing that she can (and has) survived any tough thing life throws at her.
While I still dream of a day when girls aren't silent aggressors like this towards each other, I also know I can't do anything about others. All I can do is use words like kindness, confidence, and grace. The words I didn't allow myself all those years ago. My girls and I are far from perfect, but we are doing our best to help shape the world. One solitary act, and perhaps a smile, at a time.
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