I woke at midnight last night and as usual, further sleep evaded me. I've been trying to declutter a bit so grabbed a box of old stuff from my childhood to sort through. This box was from my school days. I was a smart kid. Aced lots of papers and tests, won some awards, excelled in music, science and all other subjects other than math. You'd assume this box would be stuffed with achievements and happy memories. But it wasn't. It was a box of failure. Notes fellow students wrote making fun of me. Papers and tests that I didn't do well on. Of all things to keep from my school days, I kept the box of failure.
In the bottom of the box was an essay I wrote in 7th grade. I had forgotten about that essay until discovering it last night. It was the only "F" on a paper I ever got. We were assigned to write about if we could go anywhere to live, where would we go and why. I had chosen the Island of Misfit Toys. Rereading the pain expressed in that paper was heartbreaking. It made me cry. I choose that island because I felt it was the only place I could possibly belong. A misfit waiting to be accepted. To fit in.
I remember my teachers words as if they were spoken an hour ago. She called the paper "pathetic". She found it unacceptable to pick an imaginary place from a Christmas show, instead of a real place. She pointed out we had learned about many wonderful places in school, there was no need to go to a place that doesn't exist, let alone a place so full of despair. In her opinion, dreaming of a place to go should be a beautiful place full of happiness.
I set myself up to have a bad day today. I thought about the worry and disappointment from yesterday and filled any room left in my head with the feelings that the box of failure and my teacher's words brought back.
A few weeks ago, I received some messages from some fellow advocates that weren't kind. It was a huge blow to my fragile self esteem, and I've been stuck on it since. I'm hurt and angry. I'm struggling to not let it define who I am and the effort I'm putting in to helping people. But it's there, like a glaring blow horn right beside my head. The box of failure fit right in with my negative feelings.
To counter that noise, is the majority of fellow advocates. People who freely give their support. Some have gone even further, handing out praise like my Dad used to hand out beatings. It's so weird getting so many compliments. The first instinct is to argue and to explain why they're wrong. It's uncomfortable in many ways. It makes a person stop - or in my case to become speechless. My mind will go blank for a bit, and then it will race. I fight the urge to ask them if they've been drinking! LOL
In the end, I end up in tears. A kind word is one of the greatest gifts you can give another human being. You can lift a person from the depths of despair with just a word. You can make someone's day. You can make a person see a different side to themselves. You can make a person feel valued. And yes, you can even give them that feeling of being good enough.
I'm grateful for the people who spread kindness and support everywhere.
Today, a member of my "tribe" expressed one of those compliments. My mind went still, and yes, I was speechless. Today I learned to shut-up and bask in the heartwarming glow of praise. I felt accepted. I felt like I belonged.
Today, a compliment made me say good-bye to the Island of Misfit Toys.
Tonight, I'm going to go home and burn that essay.
NO... I'm going to burn the whole damn box.
It's time to end letting my past define my future.
