Day 01: Something I hate about myself.
Do I have to pick just one? I guess right now the thing I hate most about myself is my fear of failure. Not in the sense of being afraid that I might fail a class or that I might get rejected by someone I like, my fear of failure is on a totally different scale.
My brothers have always been pretty good at school, they have always been smart, they have always had the same friends, they are have always been kind of weird and shy, good students, respectful, they have always been the All-American boys. I have always been the exact opposite. Part of the reason I am the opposite is simply because I have a vagina. So, at the most basic level I am a gender opposite. But I think more than that, I was always expected to be like my brothers. It would make sense after all; we grew up in the same household, so how could we all be so different?!
Elementary school was really hard for me. First off, my brothers are a lot older than me. I saw their times tables and their algebra and was terrified! Was I supposed to know this stuff? How would they turn letters into numbers? And what do all of these symbols mean? I am surprised I didn’t have an anxiety attack while walking with my brother, Tom, to the first day of class. I was used to my friends at the daycare across the street, I had my routine down. Quickly, I learned the same kids that were my friend a week ago were blessed with popularity and because I was cursed with being strange and weird, these same kids that I ate backyard mushrooms with were no longer my friends.
The change in friends mixed with my kindergarten teacher, Mr. Heaton, started my schooling off with a rocky start. Mr. Heaton was my brother, Tom’s, third grade teacher. It was his first year teaching kindergarten and while I found his jerry curl mullet really sexy in the early 90’s, he was not the best person to be teaching a kindergarten class. Apparently my poor kindergartener penmanship did not qualify me to experience recess with the rest of the class. This was my first experience with failure. The type of failure that sets me apart from my peers and my family, different from the neighborhood boys not letting me play football for being a girl, something that sets me apart regardless of gender. I was set apart for not meeting the standards.
This same trend continued through middle school with common phrases being “Your brothers never had these problems…” and “I never had to have this conversation with your brothers…” or “Your brothers never spoke this way…” and into high school with other common phrases being “Your brothers were really good at this…” or “This was never an issue for your brothers…”. If I wasn’t getting these sentiments at school, I was getting them at home. And sure, I probably brought some of them onto myself. I have always been louder and more willing to express myself, even if that means calling my teachers morons (this happened more than once). But certain areas, like math and science, that have always been easy for my brothers were more difficult for me. And while teachers never seemed to point out that I was a much better writer than my brothers, they did point out that I was a much bigger asshole than my brothers.
I was the tortured artist and social butterfly in the family. I excelled at dating, drama, changing friends like most people change sticks of gum. This did not go over well. In a family where favoritism and sexism are prevalent, my skills were laughable. And while my mom would tell everyone, at the time, I was going to be the next Edgar Allen Poe, it didn’t seem to matter. My writing skills and interest were looked at as a flavor of the week. In their defense, it seemed logical to think that as I do not still want to act, sing, dance, etc.
Knowing that I will never live up to the standards my brothers set before has giving me the attitude of Why Bother? I am so afraid of trying and not meeting that standard, and thus having it held over my head (if you think my family would not do this, you obviously do not know my family!), that I would rather just not try. Getting over that hurdle is terrifying for me. If I fail, I will never live it down. I will have cemented the beliefs that I will never be more than a pretty face with an acid tongue. However, if I succeed, then why didn’t I try sooner? My family will be proud of me, of course, but I still know it will be said. Regardless of my success, it will be a lose-lose.
That type of pressure is a lot for me to handle. This is why my biggest fear is failing. Because I feel like regardless of what I do, I will still be failing. And I hate that about myself.
Do I have to pick just one? I guess right now the thing I hate most about myself is my fear of failure. Not in the sense of being afraid that I might fail a class or that I might get rejected by someone I like, my fear of failure is on a totally different scale.
My brothers have always been pretty good at school, they have always been smart, they have always had the same friends, they are have always been kind of weird and shy, good students, respectful, they have always been the All-American boys. I have always been the exact opposite. Part of the reason I am the opposite is simply because I have a vagina. So, at the most basic level I am a gender opposite. But I think more than that, I was always expected to be like my brothers. It would make sense after all; we grew up in the same household, so how could we all be so different?!
Elementary school was really hard for me. First off, my brothers are a lot older than me. I saw their times tables and their algebra and was terrified! Was I supposed to know this stuff? How would they turn letters into numbers? And what do all of these symbols mean? I am surprised I didn’t have an anxiety attack while walking with my brother, Tom, to the first day of class. I was used to my friends at the daycare across the street, I had my routine down. Quickly, I learned the same kids that were my friend a week ago were blessed with popularity and because I was cursed with being strange and weird, these same kids that I ate backyard mushrooms with were no longer my friends.
The change in friends mixed with my kindergarten teacher, Mr. Heaton, started my schooling off with a rocky start. Mr. Heaton was my brother, Tom’s, third grade teacher. It was his first year teaching kindergarten and while I found his jerry curl mullet really sexy in the early 90’s, he was not the best person to be teaching a kindergarten class. Apparently my poor kindergartener penmanship did not qualify me to experience recess with the rest of the class. This was my first experience with failure. The type of failure that sets me apart from my peers and my family, different from the neighborhood boys not letting me play football for being a girl, something that sets me apart regardless of gender. I was set apart for not meeting the standards.
This same trend continued through middle school with common phrases being “Your brothers never had these problems…” and “I never had to have this conversation with your brothers…” or “Your brothers never spoke this way…” and into high school with other common phrases being “Your brothers were really good at this…” or “This was never an issue for your brothers…”. If I wasn’t getting these sentiments at school, I was getting them at home. And sure, I probably brought some of them onto myself. I have always been louder and more willing to express myself, even if that means calling my teachers morons (this happened more than once). But certain areas, like math and science, that have always been easy for my brothers were more difficult for me. And while teachers never seemed to point out that I was a much better writer than my brothers, they did point out that I was a much bigger asshole than my brothers.
I was the tortured artist and social butterfly in the family. I excelled at dating, drama, changing friends like most people change sticks of gum. This did not go over well. In a family where favoritism and sexism are prevalent, my skills were laughable. And while my mom would tell everyone, at the time, I was going to be the next Edgar Allen Poe, it didn’t seem to matter. My writing skills and interest were looked at as a flavor of the week. In their defense, it seemed logical to think that as I do not still want to act, sing, dance, etc.
Knowing that I will never live up to the standards my brothers set before has giving me the attitude of Why Bother? I am so afraid of trying and not meeting that standard, and thus having it held over my head (if you think my family would not do this, you obviously do not know my family!), that I would rather just not try. Getting over that hurdle is terrifying for me. If I fail, I will never live it down. I will have cemented the beliefs that I will never be more than a pretty face with an acid tongue. However, if I succeed, then why didn’t I try sooner? My family will be proud of me, of course, but I still know it will be said. Regardless of my success, it will be a lose-lose.
That type of pressure is a lot for me to handle. This is why my biggest fear is failing. Because I feel like regardless of what I do, I will still be failing. And I hate that about myself.
While I think that while you may wading in a pool of self-doubt, I wonder if your are not seeing the greatness that you have already achieved. Blogger? Vlogger? Editor? I think that your voice is unique, that you bring different, fresh perspective to the fray that forces people to change or at least jostle their thoughts on a current situation. I’m thankful for some of the conversations that we have had and the honest talk that we have the opportunity of expressing. I just wish that more people would have the conversations like those that we have- difficult, messy, and at times incredibly charged, but the get somewhere, IMHO, closer to the truth. Keep Flippin.
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