I have been thinking a lot lately about why certain situations/people negatively affect my emotional state. I mean, besides the fact that I am cripplingly insecure and self conscious. Overall, I have no interest in being noticed or to have attention turned toward me in any situation. I do however, have a need to be seen. Being seen means that you are important and worthy. When I was a little girl, I remember having a very strong desire to be seen by certain people and still do in some cases. I wanted to be worth their time. My siblings on the other hand could care less whether or not these people were in our lives. My siblings felt that if these people didn’t want to give us the time of day then they were not worth our time. So why do I care so much that they can’t see me? Why do I waste my time even thinking about it? It is not like these people have ever been a big part of my life…… I don’t know.
When I was growing up, my mother use to spend any and most all of her free time painting plaster craft pieces. This is the cup that she used to clean her paint brushes. When her cancer took a turn for the worse, she decided to give me all of her paints, brushes, various supplies and most importantly…. her cup. I doubt that she saw any significance in this cup, to her it was just a dirty cup that she used to clean her brushes. To me, especially now that she’s gone, it is a warm memory of her. I feel close to her when I use it. I can envision her sitting at her table with her newest piece trying to decide what colors to choose. I loved watching her in deep concentration and couldn’t wait to see the end result of her master piece. I can almost smell the cup of coffee that she would have setting at her table while working. Painting was the one thing that she had just for her when we were all little and she loved it! When we were older, it was something that I shared with her. It is great to have something in common with my mother. When I paint, I always use it.
This is a descriptive paper I wrote in my english class in college about overcoming a difficult experience…
Broken but Not Defined
Life is a series of experiences, each one of which makes us bigger, even though sometimes it is hard to realize this. For the world was built to develop character, and we must learn that the setbacks and grieves which we endure help us in our marching onward. – Henry Ford
As an adolescent I struggled throughout school with low self esteem and a learning disability. Along the way I encountered a teacher who changed me, but not for the better. A traumatic incident occurred with this teacher that in the long run made the decision to go back to school emotionally difficult for me. With my husband’s encouragement I was able to move past these impediments. Teachers have a tremendous power to influence; their words can be used to build up or tear down. This is a story of the harmful effects of a teacher who chose to use his words to tear down and the resultant circuitous path to overcome and ultimately find success despite them.
As a child, I struggled a great deal in school academically due to a learning disability, but even more than the disability, I struggled with a lack of confidence and subsequent anxiety. I dreaded school as far back as I can remember; I can still recall the feeling of trepidation building in my stomach each morning and I can still taste the sour stomach acid of the all too familiar indigestion. I was not as studious as the other kids and usually struggled more, and a lot of times stood out for all the wrong reasons as a result. I had trouble paying attention as well, so when called upon by my teachers, I was usually off course and would then be humiliated in front of my peers (one of my worst nightmares). The fear, anxiety, and academic struggles in school only grew as I approached high school.
In my sophomore year these struggles came to a head. My algebra teacher was a horrible little man that enjoyed torturing his classes with the task of assembling a terribly complicated notebook that was worth a large portion of the class grade. I had trouble understanding algebra in general, much less the setup of this notebook, so inevitably, I was failing the class, seemingly much to this teacher’s enjoyment. Success for the students was not the goal for this teacher, control was his objective. The severity of my anxiety in this class had become so bad that my special education teacher had authorized a free pass that enabled me to leave in the event that I was driven to tears or became exasperated. Eventually, this stress and anxiety had become almost unmanageable so my mother decided that I should drop out and enroll in a home school program. In the middle of my tenth grade year I walked into the office and signed myself out of my local high school. That act made me feel like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders with all of the anxiety the school and that algebra teacher had caused that year.
A few weeks after beginning home school, my former algebra teacher came into my place of employment (McDonalds) as one of my customers. It was the middle of a Saturday afternoon. The sun streamed in through the windows down onto a crowded dining room filled with people going about their business. He deliberately positioned himself in my line amidst the sea of other customers. The noise of the crowded restaurant was at a dull roar. I spotted him immediately and could feel my anxiety level rise as my heart began to beat out of my chest with each of his steps, one by one, closer to my register. The dreaded feelings in the pit of my stomach from the days of his algebra class came rushing back and the image of his look of enjoyment as I failed once again, was vivid in my mind. Beads of sweat began to form on my brow as he inched toward me. The noise of the crowd around me faded, there was a deafening silence as his approach was pending. He finally reached my register and I tried to smile and then I forced myself to look up at him and say, “Hi, May I take your order?” He peered back at me to meet my gaze with a smirk on his face and simply said, “You will never amount to anything more than this job!” upon which he proceeded to walk out.
As he left, the sound of the roaring crowd around me suddenly returned and I was very aware of the large audience that had been present to my very personal floor show – my heart sank. I was embarrassed, angry and most of all his words left a lasting pain in the deepest parts of me. I carried that pain for a very long time. Even though I knew I was still finishing school through the home school program, the words still cut deep and unfortunately became a part of me. For quite some time afterwards, on each occasion that I thought about furthering my education, I heard those words in my head telling me ‘I would never amount to anything’ or ‘I wasn’t good enough’.
I heard those words in my head for many years after that. It took a long time to build up the confidence to face education again and have the chance to attain to the dreams that I did not even realize were in me. My husband knew I was not happy where I was professionally but I was scared, in response he gently urged me to seek something more. As can be imagined, my first semester of classes at the Art Institute (AI) were an emotional struggle. The words from that teacher many years prior had left a gaping wound. Throughout the entire semester, my husband overwhelmingly encouraged and reminded me that I could do it, and continuously provided positive reinforcement. Little by little, those negative words spoken so long ago were replaced with positive ones. Now, I no longer hear the words from that teacher. I have also come to realize in writing this that I no longer feel anger towards him.
I have freedom from his negative words and I did not let this teacher and his low opinion define me. With the help of those who love me, like my husband, I have been able to move past and not accept his estimation. My husbands constant support and sometimes sickening positivity has encouraged me to seek and want something more. He has been an inspiration and a positive driving force in my life and toward my future goals. It has driven me to want to learn those things of which I am capable. Through my experience I am bigger, I have developed character, and it is in the endurance of these setbacks and grief, for which I have the perseverance to push on.
In hindsight I can see that this teacher probably thought he was doing something good by helping me see that I would be nothing but this job if I did not stay in school. He did not know that I was in homeschool. As far as he knew, I just quit school and decided that McDonald’s was the career for me. I do not agree with his method and I feel it would always lead to pain and cause a negative outlook on ones self. He could have said what he had to say very differently and maybe would have been a positive influence on my future.
I was recently asked to try to read my entries as if I am a stranger just coming across them and to try to read them with the perspective of an outsider. I guess, read them from a third person perspective.
I found this difficult for many reasons.
Recently my son started applying for jobs and this particular son has some social issues and we will say quirks. I was talking this over with my husband and I made the comment that it was hard for me to have an unbiased opinion about how he handles himself because I know too much about him and his struggles, it gives me a different perspective. Someone that is interviewing him that knows nothing about him will have a very different perspective and opinion about his ‘quirks’.
This is similar to how I feel when approaching this task. I know too much about myself and the writing. It makes it very difficult if not impossible to seperate myself and my subsequent opinion.
I did try and this is what I took note of…
I feel that this person is sad and the writing is sad overall. There is not much happiness (I had not really noticed this before). I would feel badly for this person. I feel like they have struggled quite a bit.
Just a note, this is one of the most uncomfortable things I have had to do. I find it difficult to have compassion for myself. If I were truly reading this about a different person I would probably feel some compassion for them. I might think that this is a rather deep thinker with strong emotions. Maybe even too deep a thinker, that they may get in their own way. Life is hard and sometimes you need to just move on and not analyze and continuously think over everything.
Why does change have to be so hard? Sometimes I wonder if I will ever change. I feel like I try and try and then fail. I know that I am different than I was ten years ago.I guess change is just painfully slow for some people. I know my biggest problem or obstacle is myself. I get in my own way. I let fear run my life! I am afraid of everything! I can’t imagine what it would be like to live life without being afraid of every turn. It would feel like freedom! I imagine it to feel like flying. The sky would be the limit. I just feel so tied down. I have tried for years to stop being afraid and I have constant failure! My mind knows that my fears are irrational but it doesn’t seem to change anything. I wonder often what made me so afraid of everything. Was I born like this? Was I raised like this? I just want to know how to stop it?