Recently I found myself in an unusual social setting given my station in life. Young college co-eds surrounded me. The sometimes forced and sometimes real profundity of their conversations filled my ears. There was a girl with elliptical green eyes and the face of a doll. She looked like a doll. Not all of them were quite as handsome, but they all looked very young. My constant immersion in youth is something I’m having to get used to since recently moving to a vibrant college town. My husband and I joke about how we’ll just keep getting older while much of the populace will remain suspended in the idyll of youth. Everywhere I go – even at the grocery store where there are young people filling their carts with beer and munchies – there’s the reminder that I’ve somehow become a dowdy adult who mans a minivan and has a mortgage.
Most of the kids in the room – and I have to call them kids because that’s what they looked like to me even though I had less than 10 years on some of them – carried themselves with a lofty air of confidence. They were sipping punch from the big glass bowl at the refreshment table and snacking on plate-sized cookies that I noticed the older people in the room were avoiding probably because they knew that a cookie of that proportion would settle directly on their hips or merge into the pooch that was already overflowing from their high-wasted trousers instead of being immediately burned off by the fuel of young metabolism.
Despite the kids’ freedom to enjoy junk without worrying about where it would end up, that air was just what it sounds like – transparent, not substantial at all, something you fall right through given the chance. I could see right through it, not only because I’d been in their shoes not all that long ago but because in that room, in that social setting, I had a similar air about me but for different reasons. I didn’t feel the inexperience of youth weighing down on me. I didn’t even feel like I had to prove myself, but I did feel like I had to prove that myself (a stay-at-home mom who sometimes writes) was someone worthy of being there in that company and that I, too, was once upon a time very much like them – cerebral, unafraid of risks or mammoth cookies (well, given my hangup with food and body image, I was probably more afraid of a cookie than the average person even at their age).
In that room, I wasn’t much different than the eager students. I was effusive with my words and expressions and I fear, embarrassingly fulsome in my enthusiasm for being at this event. To be fair, part of my enthusiasm was rooted in the fact that my husband had been MIA nearly all week and I’d been craving some adult interaction (and quasi-adults count when you’re desperate).
Likewise, I do just have an effusive nature. I have a lot of emotions brimming beneath the surface, and sometimes they just spill out at unexpected places and situations – on blogs, at parties or other social gatherings.
But sometimes my Cheshire cat smile and my constant chit-chat as well as my annoying habit of marbling in some of my past achievements into conversations are just a cover up for insecurity.
I remember a friend once telling me about a job interview and how one of the candidates mentioned he went to Duke in every third sentence. This annoyed the interviewer who had the candidate’s resume right in front of her and was fully aware that he went to Duke. “It was a sign of insecurity that he kept mentioning the fact that he went there,” she said.
Though I’d never met the candidate, this guy and his Duke name-dropping were annoying me. I saw his arrogant grin and his gray suit that was just a little too big for his lanky frame. (I have no idea how he actually looked, but this is how he appeared to me in my mind’s eye.) This pompous suit guy was really getting on my nerves.
Yet, I wonder how many people have found me annoying for doing somewhat of the same thing. Aren’t we all guilty of making ourselves look bigger than we really are? How many of us bolster ourselves up with our words, pricey or flashy clothes, or our behavior? How many of us mention our accomplishments instead of letting others discover them on their own? Why do we fear our smallness instead of accepting it?
I long for a humble heart, but I have such a long way to go.
I’ve been struggling recently with feeling socially awkward and more unsure of myself in social settings. Maybe it’s the move, being in a new community. Maybe it’s the fact that the few social shindigs I attend are full of doctors or people in academia. Maybe it’s just that my bout of depression has slipped into anxiety. I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just motherhood, which I love but which also leaves me feeling physically and at times intellectually drained.
I often don’t feel very interesting (except to other moms, my kids, and my husband) anymore. I don’t feel like much of a thinker either. I used to be the kind of person who would cloister herself in some trendy coffeehouse with a book of poetry or essays just to whittle away the hours reading and ruminating. (Once I even scribbled in my journal at Cafe Hawelka in Vienna.) I now don’t have time or the life that’s conducive to idle pondering. However, I do still spend inordinate time pondering (obviously), but it’s so often about the wrong things – like: Why did I say that? Or: Why did I suffer another terrible case of diarrhea of the mouth? Why can’t I curb my effusiveness for once? Why can’t I be secure enough in my life, in my vocation, that I don’t have to mention my days as an honors student or other academic pursuits and achievements that were once mine?
When I’m thrust into a social setting that’s high on professionals and low on other domestic divas such as myself, the affirmation junkie (I believe it was Ann Voskamp who coined that phrase) within me starts to get the shakes, and no matter how hard I pray Psalm 141:3, “Set a guard over my mouth, O LORD; keep watch over the door of my lips,” the door swings open wide, and I end up saying at least one stupid, inane, or I-clearly-struggle-with-humility-thing.
The answer for my social awkwardness (and very few people would describe me as socially awkward given my outward ease with mingling in a crowd, but they don’t see the post-traumatic stress I suffer following a social encounter where I begin to over-analyze every freakin’ thing I said or didn’t say) is that I feel inadequate. I want to be affirmed that I-Katie-the-stay-at-home-mom-who-looks-at-more-poop-than-poetry belong there. I want to be affirmed that I am someone who has an interesting life and someone who has interesting things to say.
God, I have issues. (I’m not using the Lord’s name in vain here. This is a prayer to Him to help me overcome my myriad issues.)
But so does everyone as my husband recently reminded me when I was telling him how annoying I’d been. He also suggested that I’m perhaps not as prideful as I assume since I spend a ridiculous amount of time lamenting my issues and wishing I could have a Groundhog Day of my own because truly prideful people don’t recognize their issues and certainly don’t regret being themselves; they want everyone to be like themselves. Right? Yet, mentioning this leads me to believe I am still prideful.
Whatever the case, social settings with professionals happen to heighten my own social awkwardness, especially now that I’m an at-home mom who doesn’t get out all that much. Now I sometimes feel insecure because I’m afraid I won’t have anything important to say to a bunch of college students, journalists, or doctors when we’re out with people from my husband’s work (and even, oddly enough, fellow at-home moms), or I’m convinced that others are going see the blond hair and hear my job title (“Mom”) and make a quick exit to find someone more interesting to talk to.
Yet, I have as much worth now as I ever did. My worth has never changed. We don’t have to put on a show for others. We certainly don’t have to put on a show for God.
God doesn’t want a running list of our accomplishments. He just wants us.
As I scanned the room of college students, I remembered being in their shoes, feeling the pressure to “find myself.”
If I studied abroad and roamed the Uffizi, then I’d find myself.
If I fell in love with the right man, I’d find myself.
If I read the right books, I’d find myself.
If I searched myself long enough, I’d find myself.
I spent so much time contemplating myself and whom I was supposed to be, whom I ought to be, convinced that becoming the person I am supposed to be is a corollary to myself and my thinking rather than a product of God and how I revealed God in my encounter with others.
At 31, I’m no longer trying so hard to find myself. I’ve found my way, I’ve found the best version of myself, ironically, by giving pieces of myself away. I am who I am not because I’ve been stuck looking in the mirror but because I’ve been looking out toward others: My husband, my children, my friends, mostly God. I know who I am: A wife, a mother, a sinner but a person of virtue sometimes, too. The next step is to work on accepting that person – flaws, issues, social idiosyncrasies and all.
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Good stuff. I had to come to terms with the minivan and the fact that I didn't have an important job anymore and was "just a mom".
My kids don't care if I am "important" in a worldly way and God sure doesn't either.
Just remember when in an "awkward" social setting – you will be considered SO interesting and a stellar conversationalist, if you make the conversation all about the other person. All they will remember is that great person who spoke with them.
It's funny how hard it really is to remember that we don't have to "earn worthiness" or prove anything to God. St. Francis of Asissi's example helps me because he shed so many of the worldy claims to respect and was just so *joyful* in love with God.
Thank you for sharing.
Because my husband is a high school teacher, we are constantly surounded by young students and young teachers, and I feel older and older every day. So I understand! As for the social akwardness, I think we all have it, we just become more aware of ourselves as we age.
Kate, my sympathies. I'm such a recluse, I am very seldom in social situations these days; but I know if I were to find myself thrust into one like those you describe I would have very similar reactions.
I especially liked this: "I've found the best version of myself, ironically, by giving pieces of myself away. I am who I am not because I've been stuck looking in the mirror but because I've been looking out toward others: My husband, my children, my friends, mostly God." I do feel that when I'm home alone, at least (Ha! Did I just type that? I can't remember the last time I was home alone… but you know what I mean.) when I'm alone with my thoughts rattling around in my head I know I am so much more confident than the me of six years ago. As a wife and mother, as a woman who is slowly trying to work on her relationship with God, I am more myself than I have ever been.
Well, Kate, this was both well-written and extremely thought-provoking. I know I've experienced much of what you describe … but on the flip side. While I am witty, funny, and have a lot to say to my family and my close circle of friends, I totally freeze up in large social gatherings which, with my Italian background, must be the result of an errant gene. So, while you are thinking back on things you said, I am always thinking back on things I didn't say … and I regret the lost opportunities to share a little of myself.
It's not what we do, but who we are that is important … something I forget all too often. And God doesn't compare us, but sees and enjoys us each individually.
Anyway, great post.
I have found it refreshing to leave my ivy league degree and phd behind in social situations in recent years. In many arenas I am mainly known as my husband's wife and mother of his children. My pride has taken a battering, but like you I seek the humility to deal. We don't need the 'empty praise' of people or to demonstrate human wisdom when compared to God these don't matter.So what if others did find our lives mundane, we know how importance mothering is to Him.I can understand why you worry though.It's a tough one.
Melanie, you said what I've been experiencing in far fewer words than I and in a less convoluted way. I have the tendency to feel inadequate and insecure only when I'm taken out of the role I've found the most inner peace in – that of being a mother. Yet, I feel if I admit that motherhood has brought me peace and fulfillment, people will think I'm either crazy, a saint, or lying.
Kris, you had a great point, too, and I can learn so much from St. Francis of Assisi as well as other saints, Nicole.
Blessings.
Kate, I was just summarizing what you said. It's easier to for me use fewer words and to be less convoluted when you'd already gone through the hard work of digging out the feelings in the first place. I am always in debt to you for holding up a mirror in which I see myself more clearly.
I don't handle social situations very well either. I always leave wondering what in the world possessed me to say such things. For me I think the simple answer is that I don't get out much. Being pregnant and staying home with a 4 year old, a 2 year old, and a 1 year old, most of my conversation revolves around tushie changes and refilling water cups and who is cutting up which meat for which girl or why the things Curious George did are good or bad. It is somewhat disorienting talking to small children all day and then suddenly being confronted by an adult for whom such dialogue would either bore or scare.
I am not surrounded by young college kids yet, but once my husband finishes his dissertation and gets a full-time position I will be and while my appearance has never held quite the concern for me as it has for some, I am concerned just what type of representation of motherhood I will present.
BTW, I love what you said about finding yourself by giving yourself away. I still swear I have little idea what I'm doing, but I also don't think I'm doing too badly. :)
I read your blog often but usually don't comment. However, this post really struck a cord with me. Though I am not a stay-at-home mother, but a working woman who is proud of her job and accomplishments, I struggle with so much of what you just described–oh and I am nine years older than you so clearly I haven't resolved my issues yet!
I often am an extrovert around those I know, but far too often I obsess over what I say or how I say things. I also have a great deal of anxiety, and this anxiety is transparent to those who know me well (particularly my close friends and my colleagues). And I, too, find myself trying to trumpet my achievements, the good schools I went to, and my education because that is where I get my confidence, instead of letting others find out for themselves who I am.
This post reminded me that I need to let Christ show me that I am important rather than filling myself up with a bunch of achievements or trying to do things on my own.
Thank you for your thoughtful post.
Ali
Ali, thanks for your honest comment. In the post above, I only mentioned it in passing about my depression morphing into anxiety, but the truth is a trusted person in my life is helping me to see that my recent struggles with depression was probably largely hormonal related but that I have something else going on here. When she first suggested that I suffer from anxiety, I balked. After all, I've always been someone who has carried her head high and not been afraid to stand up for my beliefs. I enjoy public speaking (to a crowd, not in a social setting; there's a difference), and sometimes I feel very much at peace. But I do get overly anxious about stupid things. The big things I'm okay with; it's the small stuff I sweat far too often. Oh, and I do sometimes stress out too much about if I'm doing everything right as a mother (don't we all?).
I suppose it was my pride (again!) that initially prevented me from seeing that I'm an anxious person, but this realization is helping me slowly but surely and day by day to put my trust in God – not just with the big things but with all quotidian details in life. I'm getting to be okay with my smallness because the smaller I become, the bigger He is in my life.
God bless.
Oh, yes, anxiety. The number-one reason why I don't leave blog comments all that often: because I'll hit "post" and then be consumed with worry that I've said the wrong thing (sometimes I seriously have, but not that often), or that I've just made a whole universe of faceless people hate me, blah blah blah.
For what it's worth, I think the particular anxiety of being around college kids is worse when you're closer to their age. They seem more like the potential trophy wives of the life you were maybe envisioning for yourself, which has recently dumped you, or so it seems, and less like the children they in fact are. Not that I don't sometimes still feel a little competitive with my husband's brighter students, or with his colleagues (there but for . . . well, the grace of God, obviously . . . go I), but at least the students are a lot closer to my oldest daughter's age than to mine, so I can just enjoy them as kids, in much the same way that I enjoy my teenaged children. They call me Mrs. Thomas,very deferentially, and I'm mostly content just to hang back and listen to them — if I open my mouth, I'll start dishing out obnoxious advice or something, so I try to be the fly on the wall instead. I mean, a nice, pleasant, smiling fly on the wall, who wouldn't bite them if they tried to talk to me . . .
Prayers for your depression and anxiety. Been there. Not fun.
Kate, don't doubt that you're an interesting person! Raising small children takes a lot of creativity and intelligence, and you clearly do it very well. You also use your insights to minister to other moms, which is also an interesting and worthwhile thing to do.
Kate, I was telling Dom about this discussion last night and he said it reminded him of the deleted opening scene from The Incredibles. He even got out the dvd and played it for me. In the scene Helen (aka Elastigirl) and Bob (aka Mr. Incredible) have just moved into their new house and are meeting the new neighbors at a BBQ block party. Helen is confronted by a woman who totally blows her off because she's "wasting her life" as a stay at home mom. Helen gives a wonderful speech about the comparative value of being a super hero/saving the world and raising children. Oh it made me remember why I love that movie so much.
Yippee: you can see the scene on you Tube.
Oh, Melanie. That was fantastic. I wish they hadn't deleted it.
Thanks so much for sharing.