On fitting in

I sometimes have the feeling that I'm not quite real the way the rest of you are. The need to belong, to have symbols of belonging, so I know who I am as defined by you and who you are. The feeling that I'm not ok unless you tell me I am.

The hug that tells me I'm not in trouble anymore and I am still loved instead of the deathly cold silence counter-pointing your casual disregard for me or the thunder of the belt against my skin telling me how unworthy I am, the refusal to be part of my life, to involve yourself in me, to stop hating me for making you feel guilty for your sins.

Waiting, by your show of acceptance, for someone to tell me it is ok to come out of my room now, that time out is over.

Belonging, who I am , who I want to be, how not to conform, how to conform....all of this stuff occupies my thoughts a lot. I was the kind of kid who didn't fit anywhere until junior high. I couldn't make friends or keep them if I did. My family was just too weird, my mother never cared very much about our social lives or allowing us one. I remember being really jazzed when I was in fifth grade because I had made friends with this girl named Crystal and she had asked me to stay overnight at her house. My mother had agreed (oh miracle of miracles!), when the girl made the unforgivable mistake of calling me 'Liz' instead of 'Elizabeth'. This made her too untrustworthy for me to stay over so my mother immediately insisted I get back in the car despite my begging and pleading and drove me home, humiliated to my core. That was pretty much it for me and Crystal.

I would look at the kids who were popular and think I would give ANYTHING to be just like them. I've spent a lifetime trying to fit in ever since. I've twisted myself into pretzels (which I hate by the way) to try to conform or belong in a group, even groups of people I hated, because I was convinced I needed to fit in somewhere. But I am a unique person; I am eclectic in taste and mannerisms and faiths, so I don't easily fit into any niche. And I am just coming to terms with that, with being unique after a lifetime of trying to be just like everyone else.


Now I watch my oldest daughter in the same struggle, trying to be a round peg and fit in round holes when she is all right angles. And I weep for her, because I know how much she hurts, how hard it is, what it does to your self esteem. I tell her all the right parently things: Don't worry honey, you'll make a friend, and One good friend is better than twenty so so ones and It will all be alright. I tell her how beautiful she is, how special and unique, how much she has to give, how much I love her, how stupid those kids are. But I think I knew, even back then, how different I was, and I think she does too. I can see it in her eyes when she says 'I know, mommy'. She does know.