Insecurity

I was recently presented by Wendy with this "honest scrap" award.  The original idea was to list 10 honest things about yourself.  I knew, however, that I'd be writing an essay instead.  Coming up with a topic took a while, but thanks to a Facebook chat I had with my schoolmate Tim and to some brainstorming in the shower, I am ready to write.

My dad left home when I was almost 7.  (Just about exactly the same age as #4 this month.)  The divorce was final when I was in 6th grade.  It was long and drawn out.  Absence of closure is not a helpful thing for someone who tends to brood over everything to begin with.  Throughout that time, adults (including my parents, or at least my dad) always seemed to comment on how well I was handling the divorce.  That was absolutely false.  But an overwhelming desire to be very grown-up kept me from correcting any one.

To be honest, I was sad.  I had been a bit of a daddy's girl, and to have him gone every night was not easy.  I felt disillusioned.  Divorce had been a fear of mine a year or two before, and one night I'd asked my parents if I would have a say in a decision like that.  They had said yes, and I felt safe, because I knew my vote.  Anger over that "lie" lasted well into my teens.  More anger was directed toward my dad for leaving at all, for then quickly leaving the church, and for frequent miscommunication.  Even more anger was directed toward his new mate for her existence and for being so hard to hate.

I felt embarrassed.  Maybe not quite at first, but by 3rd or 4th grade, I was embarrassed to have a single mom, poor, living in an apartment.  By middle school I was also continually embarrassed by our very old cars.  That is, until I could drive the old cars.  Lots of kids drove old cars.  I was embarrassed to have very generic clothing.  Ironically,  now that I can generally shop wherever I'd like, most of what I own comes from Target.  My kids aren't even embarrassed.

All of this fed what I believe to be a natural inclination toward insecurity.  I felt like I had something to prove.  I had to prove to my friends that I was friend-worthy.  I had to prove to my cousins that I was family-worthy.  I had to prove to myself that I was better than my surroundings.

This is not a good state to be in.  Especially when a little kid decides that the best way to prove all of this is to tell everyone how great she is and show off.  That is actually a fantastic way to lose friends and make your cousins think you're obnoxious.  Losing friends and having family not like you is a great way to think you have something more to prove.  It was, tritely put, a vicious circle.

Gradually through middle school and by high school, I found that the best thing to do was to keep my mouth shut (not only about how great I was but about most things) and hope for friends to find me.  And some did.  I decided that it did not matter, really, what anyone thought.  But if I'm really being honest here, it did matter.  I'm still not sure how to make it not matter.  I acted back then in ways I am ashamed of to fit in and get just a tiny bit of attention with out the bragging.

Being honest, I still continue under the assumption that most people probably won't like me.  Or like me enough to be my friend.  I have a hard time putting myself on the line enough to reach out.  I am always grateful for the friend here and there who reaches my direction, and then once I feel certain the rejection is not, in fact, eminent, I can finally open up.  I am fully aware that this is a selfish way of thinking and behaving.

That has been the seductive aspect of blogging.  Being in a brand new place, I have found it relatively easy to hop over to some one's blog, click "follow" and leave a comment. At least once I figured out that that action would not come off as presumptuous and bothersome. And you know what?  A few kind folks have clicked "follow" on my site.  They even return, some of them, to see what I have to say.  This is the best my social life has been since kindergarten. To be honest, it's some of the best that I have felt about myself.

For more introspection, though hopefully less depressing, click here, here, and here.  Otherwise stay tuned for my upcoming fluffy 12 days of Christmas posts, Dec 10-21.