I never promised to be unemotional, easy-going, better, uplifting, worth it, easy to deal with, perfect, strong, bold, unwavering. I have faults and flaws like everyone else. I bleed when you cut me and I cry when you hurt me. I analyze everything and try to be considerate of everyone, even though I'm not always given the same respect in return and it often times puts me last. I am my own worst enemy and my biggest critic. I will never be good enough and I will always feel like a burden. I will question why my friends want to be my friends and why each of my siblings has more to offer to our family that I do. I will always play the "what-if" game and poke holes in everything because I've learned that surprise disappointment is worse than seeing it coming. I am fatalistic to a fault. But I never promised not to be.
I'm just a girl. Just one person in this whole big world trying to find my way, whatever that may be. I stumble a lot, yet I'll always tell you that I can do it myself. Actually admitting I needed help would put me back in the burdensome category. But sometimes, I do. I am loud, obnoxious and catty for a reason. I am not self-assured in any way, shape or form. I fake it well, but I'm not. I want to be like everyone else yet I want to feel important, special, loved unconditionally. Feel like my existence matters. I want to not feel like my time takes away from time better spent doing other things or with other people. I want to feel like a part of something, rather than a distraction from the more important. I want to matter. I want to be worth inviting along on a regular basis, and not an obligation from time to time just to appease me.
I never promised not to be any of the things that I am, although I never asked to be any of them either. I'm trying. Trying to work through the faults and flaws, but more often than not they win out. We've all got them. But in all fairness to me, I never promised not to have them.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Turn the other cheek
I'm sure that everyone has at least one memory of coming home from school, eyes brimming with tears caused by the kid sitting behind you in math class who leaned up and whispered something about your greasy hair; or the girl with the coolest clothes who you overheard telling her best friend about your hand-me-down, too short jeans; or the really cute boy, you know the one you'd been eying up since 1st grade hoping and praying that for just one day he'd chase you around the playground, referred to you as "the big girl" when picking teams for gym class; or [insert embarrassing tear worthy childhood memory here]. Remember how it felt like the world was actually going to end? How could you possibly ever go back to school? Walk through those halls knowing that they're all thinking that same horrible thing?
Somehow you make it home and your mom takes one look at your bloodshot eyes, coupled with your splotchy cheeks and knows that someone's hurt her baby. She sets you up on the counter and listens as you sob and choke your way through the horror all over again, shedding a tear with you because she remembers how cruel kids can be. And like every great mom, when you're finished she holds you close reminding you how wonderful you are, and how elementary/middle/high school doesn't matter and that someday all of those nasty little shits will grow up and realize that all of the thoughts they had and the things they said were hurtful, spiteful, nasty and completely unnecessary. You get the obligatory "just ignore them" advice, a cup of hot chocolate, your favorite movie, and the secret delight when she tells your brother and sisters "leave your sister alone tonight, she had a rough day at school. And DON'T ask her about it. It's over." And they don't ask, at least not right away, because as much as they're dying to know what happens, they'd rather not suffer the wrath of mom.
5, 10 years down the road, if you're lucky you run into one of those nasty little shits and most of the time, they have in fact, grown up and you can go on leading your lives like normal adults who realize that belittling others to make yourself feel better works in quite the opposite way actually. Maybe you grab a cup of coffee and catch up, or exchange email addresses, or swear to reconnect via facebook, either way you can file that "life ending" childhood memory away, because it was just adolescent immaturity.
What happens when the immaturity is coming from a 30 year old, and it's no longer about your greasy hair but about your character and reputation? When she's no longer just taunting you with insults, but running her mouth all over the social media world, airing untruths about you and your life, because it's easy. It paints her in the light of the victim, and she has, after all, grown up in a world where she's not required to accept responsibility for the results of her actions because how could her parents' dear, precious daughter ever be anything but perfect? How do you hold on to your integrity, how do you find the warmth of your mothers arms and the perfumey scent of the hot chocolate when you have no other defense than to just take it? You could retaliate with equally cruel insults, but that just puts you right there on her level, back on the elementary school playground and that's not how adults react.
In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter. She doesn't matter. She has an opinion. Congratulations. There are any number of people who would discount every word that has come out of her mouth, but she's like accidentally getting a drop of blue dye in your pink cake batter. Sure, there's a sea of wonderfully creamy pink, but now you've got to work to drown out that nasty spot of blue. Perhaps when all is said and done, no one will even notice the slight discoloration in your otherwise perfect batter, but in the back of your mind, you know. You'll always know.
Somehow you make it home and your mom takes one look at your bloodshot eyes, coupled with your splotchy cheeks and knows that someone's hurt her baby. She sets you up on the counter and listens as you sob and choke your way through the horror all over again, shedding a tear with you because she remembers how cruel kids can be. And like every great mom, when you're finished she holds you close reminding you how wonderful you are, and how elementary/middle/high school doesn't matter and that someday all of those nasty little shits will grow up and realize that all of the thoughts they had and the things they said were hurtful, spiteful, nasty and completely unnecessary. You get the obligatory "just ignore them" advice, a cup of hot chocolate, your favorite movie, and the secret delight when she tells your brother and sisters "leave your sister alone tonight, she had a rough day at school. And DON'T ask her about it. It's over." And they don't ask, at least not right away, because as much as they're dying to know what happens, they'd rather not suffer the wrath of mom.
5, 10 years down the road, if you're lucky you run into one of those nasty little shits and most of the time, they have in fact, grown up and you can go on leading your lives like normal adults who realize that belittling others to make yourself feel better works in quite the opposite way actually. Maybe you grab a cup of coffee and catch up, or exchange email addresses, or swear to reconnect via facebook, either way you can file that "life ending" childhood memory away, because it was just adolescent immaturity.
What happens when the immaturity is coming from a 30 year old, and it's no longer about your greasy hair but about your character and reputation? When she's no longer just taunting you with insults, but running her mouth all over the social media world, airing untruths about you and your life, because it's easy. It paints her in the light of the victim, and she has, after all, grown up in a world where she's not required to accept responsibility for the results of her actions because how could her parents' dear, precious daughter ever be anything but perfect? How do you hold on to your integrity, how do you find the warmth of your mothers arms and the perfumey scent of the hot chocolate when you have no other defense than to just take it? You could retaliate with equally cruel insults, but that just puts you right there on her level, back on the elementary school playground and that's not how adults react.
In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter. She doesn't matter. She has an opinion. Congratulations. There are any number of people who would discount every word that has come out of her mouth, but she's like accidentally getting a drop of blue dye in your pink cake batter. Sure, there's a sea of wonderfully creamy pink, but now you've got to work to drown out that nasty spot of blue. Perhaps when all is said and done, no one will even notice the slight discoloration in your otherwise perfect batter, but in the back of your mind, you know. You'll always know.
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