Follow along
Subscribe to my newsletter to keep up with my writing!
When I was a kid, I had a lot of labels put upon me by other people. Sensitive. Responsible. Smart. Pretty. Square. Naive. Shy. Polite. Picky. These labels were people’s perceptions of me, not who I inherently was, but as a child I assumed others knew me better. So I internalized these labels – not the words themselves, but the connotations implied by the tone. The way they made me feel.
Responsible, smart, pretty, and polite were positive. People liked those things, so I focused my energies there to gain currency with adults. I studied hard to get good grades, put effort into my looks, kept watch over my sisters, and punctuated sentences with “please” and “thank you.” It took effort to switch from “can I” to “may I.” That is, until my fourth grade teacher replied to a student’s bathroom request with, “I don’t know, can you go to the bathroom? I don’t want you going at your desk, so you may go to the bathroom.” After that, the prospect of being called out in a roomful of peers for improper grammar made it real easy to switch.
The other labels, though, those were always said with disdain or disappointment. Being sensitive made me a target for ridicule. Having a picky palette put me at a higher risk for teasing. Keeping to myself and only speaking when called upon singled me out as awkward and sometimes pretentious. These traits – the ones I couldn’t help, the ones that were inherently mine – were the ones I needed to change. Others didn’t like them, so I didn’t like them about myself.
But, try as I might, this tiger couldn’t change those stripes. No matter how many other kids could participate in group sports and have fun with it. Or raise their hand confidently in class without prodding from the teacher. No matter how good my sisters were at trying new foods. Or how funny others thought a joke at my expense was. Because that was the prevalent argument, “Well, So-and-So is doing it. So-and-So doesn’t have any issue. So why should you?” As if my stubbornness were preventing me from enjoying life the way others did.
So for the longest time, I thought it was my fault; an inherent flaw in my personality that prevented me from being the person others wanted me to be. I was a square peg being forced into a round hole, getting chastised for being the wrong fit. Now as an adult with children of my own, I realize most of the adults in my life acted out of fear. They either knew how hard it can be to be a sensitive soul in this society, or they couldn’t relate and were afraid of what they didn’t know.
Maybe they hoped by giving me pointers they could save me from hearing it from strangers. Like when I let my sons know their clothes are on backwards, in case they don’t notice. I’d rather them hear it from me in a gentle tone inside our home than mocked by others outside. Except instead of a shirt with a tag in the front, my personality had a hole in it.
My therapist recommended Dr. Brené Brown’s books to me years ago, and I just recently picked one up. I Thought It Was Just Me (But It Isn’t) was first published in 2007, coincidentally at a time when I desperately could have used it. But it’s just as relevant 15 years later. It’s a reminder that our vulnerabilities, these labels put upon us by society or ourselves, don’t need to be a source of shame. They’re not weaknesses. In fact, hiding them exacerbates the problem.
Pretending I wasn’t sensitive as a kid just led to more tears, which didn’t help prove my point. Making myself try foods I didn’t want to backfired on me – I usually ended up gagging and spitting out whatever I tried to force down. Attempting to be outgoing led me to stumble with my words and avoid eye contact, filling me with more shame than if I just stayed quiet.
Shame haunts us all, as Dr. Brown’s research shows. People feel the need to pretend to be something they’re not in order to fit in. This bid for connection, belonging, motivates us to fit certain molds others may value more than what we have to offer.
Something amazing happens, though, when we practice accepting ourselves for who we are. Acknowledging these “imperfections” and “weaknesses” in ourselves lets others admit to theirs. Embracing these personality differences, talking about them, letting the light shine on these “dark” spots of myself, has shown me I’m not alone. When I open up about my struggle with anxiety and depression, it lets those around me feel free to talk about their inner demons too. And you know what that leads to? CONNECTION!
All we want is to be accepted; it’s human nature. But one size does not fit all. You’ll kill a part of yourself trying to force something if you try long enough. Instead of trying to be a round peg, I’ve accepted my squareness. Nothing says you can’t be a square and hang out with other shapes – in fact, us quiet introverts need outgoing extroverts to hold our hands and share their perspectives with us, and vice versa.
Those labels placed on me at the beginning of my life haven’t changed, but my perceptions of them have. I am more sensitive than general society, but it’s made me more empathetic. I may have fewer friends than others, but I really enjoy and appreciate the ones who reciprocate my friendship. If I don’t know something, I’m happy to learn about it by acknowledging this deficit. And my palette may be more restrictive than most, but that just means there’s more for everyone else to enjoy.