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© 2004-2008 Linda Escaip
"I may be grumpy, but I like you."
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The Suns and Moons of the Grumpiest Girl in the Room.
Welcome to my journal, dovedrop.
Just Joan's Kid 17-Oct-2004 08:20 p.m.
I have searched for reasons why I have, for years, carried around such a shitty opinion of myself. Why do I feel like I shouldn't say anything to anyone, ever? I have grand daydreams of how fabulously charming and witty I'll be when I go here or there, only to be met with the reality of hearing myself say quietly, "Keep your mouth shut. You're an idiot."
Growing up, my family had two mottos: "Don't rock the boat" and "Don't say anything." Weary from a life of shutting the fuck up, I told my mom as a teenager that I was going to write a play about our family and call it The Doormats. We laughed about it. I never wrote it.
Sometimes I am able to break free from the belief that no one wants to hear anything I say and actually express myself. Yeah, sometimes I let loose and it's fun. But then I'm driving home or lying in bed kicking my own ass for talking. "Should I have said that?" Man, I heard my dad ask my mom that question so many times growing up that I thought I might lose my nugget. He is the sweetest man on the planet, yet he does not know his worth as a human being.
I wasn't always this fearful of what others might think of what I have to say. In fact, I caused some fine family arguments speaking my mind, and never regretted it. I am the spiciest meatball I've ever known, which makes it an odd mutation of sorts that I often hold the reins of my words so tightly.
I have no problem speaking up when it comes to defending someone else. I am there for the underdog any day of the week devoid of regrets. Yet it is the simple conversation between myself and others that gets me stuck in the quicksand of apprehension. Why am I not as good as they? Why are their words more important than mine? Why do they look so comfortable and smooth in the world, and I feel like a complete dork? It seems I need a cause for which to speak in order to feel justified in speaking at all. That is heavily ridiculous.
There are times I am afraid to ask salespeople for help because I just know they'd rather help someone else. Someone cooler; someone taller; someone who is fascinating in a foreign film kind of way. I don't know. Just someone else. Someone who isn't me.
Your mind can make you crazy. It can make you sick, and it can make you miss out on a life that is better than the one you are living. That's when it is time to think new thoughts. Digging down deep to uncover the things that may have contributed to a lack of self-esteem won't solve anything. I could dredge up a thousand hurtful moments from my life, and it won't change a thing. I already know all that crap, and here I am trying to feel important.
But let's unearth one of those beauties anyway.
A hundred or so years ago, we went to a family event—someone's anniversary or something. I was probably 7 or 8. Everyone was outside, and my sister and I were over by the garage, leaning against a wall, talking. These two crazy-looking ladies came running over, screaming, "Oh my God! It's Crabby! Crabby! Oh, Crabby!" They were squealing, drunk with giddiness, one of the ladies' arms reaching out to cup my sister's face. My sister had the same hair colour as our cousin, Crabby, and apparently resembled her for a few seconds of utter insanity.
My cousin's real name is not Crabby, but she shall be named that for all the times she was crabby in my presence, when she could have been nice like she was to everyone else. Anyway, it seems that Crabby was the shit or something, because these ladies were all over my sister like she was their favourite soap star out for a day of autograph-signing and mingling with fans. That is, until they realized my sister was not Crabby.
"Oh. It's not Crabby. It's just Joan's kids."
The one lady said it to the other lady, drained of all giddiness, with a splash of disappointment and a we wasted our energy on this? sort of feel. They turned sharply on their heals and walked back toward the party.
My sister was unscathed, of course, but I was mortified. Why weren't my mom's daughters as good as someone else's? I felt worthless and embarrassed of myself. I felt sad, and I wanted to scream at those ladies and tell them how mean they were, and that they would never know how wonderful my mom is, and that they didn't deserve to know her at all.
I obviously never forgot that moment, because it is one of the moments of my life that I allowed to shape the way I feel about myself. But I am the one who keeps playing it over in my head. It is certainly not happening now, this event, so what is the need to keep looking at it? There is no need; the only purpose it serves along with the rest of the stories I keep going over, is to keep me feeling worthless.
I have realized the only way to feel better about being me is to change what I am thinking. A few months back I conducted a little experiment on myself. Instead of rummaging through my old thoughts, I thought new thoughts. I did this for a little over a month. I said nice things about myself in my head all day. I proclaimed aloud that I love myself, that I'm fucking cool. Every time something bugged me or made me feel anxious, instead of reacting, I thought more nice things about myself. I found myself wanting to cover every area, because I was starting to feel so bloody great that I wanted to make sure I didn't forget anything. My friend enjoyed the time I told her over dinner, "I have a beautiful vagina!"
But then something really fucked up and sad happened, and slowed down my experiment. But I am still at it, just not with as much fervor as before, but I'll get back to it. I can no longer comfortably say cruel things about myself because it hurts like someone else is saying it, if that makes sense. I know that it is possible for me to feel important, because I felt it. When I was saying that stuff to myself, I was different in the world. I saw people as human instead of possible monsters out to think mean thoughts about me. I was lighter and more myself than I have been in years. And if you do it long enough, it becomes more natural.
I remember the day I decided to start saying crappy things about myself to others so that people would stop saying I was stuck-up or whatever they were saying. I thought if people knew I didn't have a healthy opinion of myself, they would leave me alone. After a while, I believed that garbage. So, if it is possible to fill your mind with thoughts that make you sick of yourself, you can do the opposite.
I have beautiful parents who would give just about anyone the benefit of the doubt, who have helped countless people out of bad situations, who are truly lovely people, and who, for the most part, do not know their worth. I would be more than happy to tell them how important they are, but they have to know it themselves. I am forever proud to be their daughter.
Linda
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