Epiphany in 4th grade

I had a flashback the other day. I was remembering 4th grade. My teacher in 4th grade was Mrs. Travena. She was lovely, and in charge of the school newspaper so she was very into making reading and writing cool. What heaven for me. If only I hadn't been 10 years old, I could have appreciated it more. Because, you see, at 10 years old, I had already endured being at an "awkward" age for a year, and I was damn tired of it, and pretty cranky about it too (if only I had known it would last for another 9 years. Siiigh). I'd had my share of boys making fun of my bra by snapping it, my teeth were too big for my face, and let's face it, with my hours of reading and insufferable-know-it-all-ness I was not going to be one of the cool girls. I know this now, but at the time, it was hard that the girls I had grown up with were suddenly a seemingly different species than me.

I felt myself floundering a little, socially, and so I started trying out different friend groups. It turns out that finding my "group" in a school of less than 200 kids probably wasn't going to give me the sample size I needed (I never really did find my "group" until college, and then again in grad school, and then again, here. All three of those groups were well worth waiting for). I never really did find a group that I fit well with. For a lot of that year, I latched onto just one friend: Kelly. Kelly was cute, spunky, and had a life completely different from mine. She was funny, and had interesting stories, and her mom was soooooooo cool. I remember I was in the hallway, collating the school newspaper (by hand) the day that parents were coming in for conferences. Kelly's mom came in, said hi to me, and then went and found Kelly afterwords. She talked with Kelly for a minute, give her a big hug and high-five, and then left our the back door. Kelly saw me and came bounding down the hall, jumping up and down saying, "Oh my gosh! Guess what?! I got all C's! Alllll Ceeeeee's!"

I had a momentary pause and then jumped up and down with her and said, "Yeah!"

Internally, it took me until after she walked away to process this. As I continued to walk slowly around the table, collating by hand, I realized, for Kelly, C's were worth celebrating. That for her, this was good news. At my house, and in my family, my parents said, "As long as you do your best, we're proud," but nobody had ever had to test that beyond a B+.

I'm not knocking my former-friend Kelly. As I came to realize, she worked really hard for those C's. 4th grade wasn't easy for her, and her life at home seemed really cool to me (all that TV and independence!) but also meant she didn't have the support to do cool homework projects like I did. She probably worked a lot harder for her C's than I did for the steady stream of A-'s I got that year. You know, I knocked out some reports and science projects and diaramas, but 4th grade was really pretty easy for me. I didn't have to dig down deep for much - it's not that I didn't care, because I did, but looking back, I wasn't ever really mentally taxed at school until High School.

The epiphany fr me was realizing that I not everyone aims for the same thing, and that my standards are reeeeee-heeeaaally high. This isn't really surprising. Since I grew up as the only girl sibling in my family, and the oldest (all of that to shift and re-settle once I met my sister) I definitely have the standard - take-charge, high-achiever, structured personality of the first-born. I also had parents with high standards, and some means to support them. In my family, winning is important, competition was real, and good grades were expected. Also, despite all of us having a certain degree of special needs, we also had a lot of raw goods to bring to the task wen it came to success at school. It was fair for my parents to expect A's and B's.

It was eye-opening for me to realize that not everyone has the same expectations. This issue has returned to me again and again in my life. I've been told I have very high standards. I've been told I'm my own worst critic. I've been told I have to be kinder to myself. I've been told I'm pushy. I've been told I'm unforgiving. I've been given this message in as many disappointing and hurtful ways as nice ones in my life.

I think about this a lot when setting goals for myself, for my exercise, for my weight loss, for my to-do list at work, for whatever. I think about it when I don't hit the mark I was aiming for. Because everything I've been told about myself, whether or not it was said nicely, is true. I don't just get disappointed, I punish myself. If I eat a piece of pizza I'm a bad person, if I don't get things done on my to-do list I'm an absolute failure. If the scale goes up, I should just resign myself to being depressed for the day. If I don't get what my trainer is showing me on the first try I'm royally pissed at myself for hours. (I hate to admit it, but there was one day where I was supposed to clean-press and we had raised the weight, and I was just not getting it. I had to be more precise with my movements, and fearless, and I was not succeeding at either. By the fourth set of failures, I totally fell apart, throwing a mini-tantrum because I was so mad at myself I couldn't put it into words past "aaaauuuuuugggguuurrrrrrhhhh!")  

I put on a good front when I say to people (generally people who approach me with jobs that don't work for me), "I don't have to be good at everything. There are things I know I am truly exceptional at. I make amazing soup, and can do full splits!" But, the truth is, not being awesome at things is generally not ok with me. I can live with not being fab at the following: Scrabble, poker, rock climbing, drinking Bourbon, making pie crusts, and parallel parking. But everything else, come on, I need to rock at it. Dental exams are to be aced, shopping trips should not only be efficient, but hit the budget mark within a penny, and it's important to me to get good reviews at work. My brother and I have a running joke with my mom that we're her "favorite." It comes up over and over. She'll tell me thank you for something and I'll say, "Mm-hmm, that's because I'm your favorite."

I made a lot of fun of Charlie Sheen, and "winning!" continues to be my ring-tone, but come on, winning is cool. As much as I love winning, I hate losing. Unless winning is losing. And right now, all I'm doing is losing at being a loser.

That's right readers. I lost nothing this week.

Pardon me for a moment, . . . "aaaauuuuuugggguuurrrrrrhhhh!"


In the crazy two weeks that I've had at work, I've managed to fight to find the time and wherewithal to weigh and measure eehhh-hhhheeeeee-verriiii-thing, to bring healthy lunches and dinners with me, and on two occasions breakfast too, to tote around my gym bag and fit my cardio and lifting workouts in SOMEHOW . . . for THIS?! Seriously?!! I hit all of my goals for serving sizes and all of the right number of servings for each thing. I even skipped several carb servings, subbing in extra servings of RAW VEGETABLES. I had several days where I skipped my discretionary calories altogether, and I left alcohol out of the equation altogether.

I stood on that scale and looked at her and said, "I'm sorry, but I cannot put this much time into measuring everything I put into my mouth, and fighting to get my workouts in and still have things be this slow. Everyone else I know can go to the gym a couple times a week and stop eating chips and lose more weight in a week than I do in a month. I'm probably going to eat pizza today. For reals." and then I cried, but just a little

I want to win at this. I have to win at this, even if winning means having lower goals than EVERYONE else. And it's heartbreaking that I'm digging my heels in this hard to deal with my food issues, to be accountable, to peel back as many layers and be truly honest here, to fight myself kicking and screaming into the gym, to give the popcorn the finger when it's what i really want, and to generally know that my endocrine system is a little like that old adage that no matter how far you lower the bar, there are some who will insist on slithering beneath it. No matter how reasonable I think my goals are, or how much harder I am working than everyone else I know, my endocrine system can still frak it all up. And the truth is, my standards ARE high. I expect a lot of myself, and this makes me very much want to pull the covers up over my head. And eat pizza.

I came home, and stood at my counter, and fought off the urge to order pizza. I did not cry. I thought about Kelly, and her C report card and wondered if I could be happier finding my way into that mind-set. What if I was ok with winning less? What if getting a C was ok for me in this case? The problem is, Kelly worked really hard for those C's, and (here's the key) was happy with those grades. I'm working really hard, really, really crazy hard, and trying to talk my way into accepting that C's are the right thing to expect, and getting D's. Deeeeeeeeeeees.

So, I didn't order pizza, and I didn't cry (until shedding a few more tears now) but I did eat two slices of pumpkin chocolate chip bread, and I did skip my run today. then, I felt like a failure and decided to eat vegetables for the rest of the day. I can't phone it in every day, I know, but just for today, I needed to want less and to not try.