The one that got away...
Do you ever go in to an environment and suddenly feel very small? I don’t mean size wise, I mean emotionally… like, young?
I had that a few weeks ago. I went to the London Book Fair to have a meeting about a potential new project. As I queued to get in, I began to feel myself shrink. Those queueing around me appeared so self assured.
All of them looking very… writerly, adept and upbeat.
I felt very wobbly, awkward and ungainly.
As I found the person I was meeting, I immediately shared with them, ‘Wow, this is full on, I’m feeling pretty young.’
I can be an over sharer like that when my feelings haven't found their container yet.
‘I don’t feel young’, she replied, ‘But I do feel overwhelmed.’
And it got me thinking about the difference between overwhelm and the feeling that I was feeling. If you have been following along for a while, you may recall that I have written about the feeling of overwhelm already:
‘When I feel overwhelmed, I feel flat out, resources are spent, so long and thanks for all the fish… when I’m overwhelmed there is certainly no capacity for reflection.’
No, I didn’t feel flat out, with my resources spent, I was clearly able to reflect on what I was feeling and it was much worse than overwhelm.
It was (cue Jaws music)...
SHAME.
God DAMNIT. Although, quite convenient, as that is the feeling of the week!
I did a podcast on shame with award winning therapist Marc Pimsler, which you can listen to here.
We can all feel shame (yes I am bringing you in with me), but it's not often spoken about.
In this podcast, Marc defines shame as
'Any time a part of me that feels the need to hide is exposed to you, or to me, in a way that I'm not prepared to be with.’
Well that’s just dandy.
And the flame of shame can roar up whenever it feels like, of course. You may see it rear its ugly head in the name of ‘Imposter Syndrome.’ This is often described as self doubt about intellect, skills or accomplishments in individuals.
Brené Brown says,
‘Shame is the most powerful, master emotion. It’s the fear that we are not good enough.’
Here’s the thing, at that book show, one of my books that I have written was actually on a publisher’s stand that they had paid me to write.
Now, someone may come along and say, ‘Ha! There is the proof that you have the intellect, skills and accomplishments - literally in black and white!’
So how could my shame be rearing up, in a place all about books, where my book was there... on full display for all to see?
Well, to understand that, we have to understand the roots of my shame story.
Buckle up.
Years ago, when I was deciding to apply to universities my English teacher suggested that I applied to Oxford University. Did I want to go? I don’t know, still to this day, but I did want the prestige, the admiration, the accolades, that came with being a student at those hallowed halls.
So I spent lunchtimes and time after school being prepped by two teachers. Whilst other 17 and 18 year olds were getting to know each other at debauched parties, the closest I was getting to anything like that was reading Chaucer's The Miller's Tale.
And then the day came when I sat the exam…
And a few weeks later I found out my fate by mail.
I had not made it through to interview.
In other words, I had failed.
Out of 9 students who applied, I was the only one who didn’t get asked to interview.
And then, 3 out of the 4 other universities I had applied to also hit the ‘reject’ button.
With great grade predictions, a litany of accolades to my name, I wasn’t wanted.
I had played by the rules… and it hadn’t worked.
And now, I was all at sea.
I was told by my family, ‘It’s no big deal, get over it.’
So I did. I got over it by trying harder, but doing all-nighters at uni when it came to handing in essays, by being driven in all that I did.
And I got under it, by walking away from careers just as I got to a significant point of responsibility, by always having a 'mad tale' of pulling the rug from under my feet.
And then shrugging things off with, ‘Never mind, it’s no big deal, I’ll get over it.’
But I have never gone through it.
There is still a part of me that feels, not just unworthy, but actually worthy of the rejection.
And that part felt exposed at the London Book Fair. Every stand reared up at me like a mini university.
That part that, regardless of how many people tell her her poetry is good, or that it touches hearts, will echo back, ‘Yes, but THEY didn’t want me, so it doesn’t matter.
Don't we all have this story on some level?
When we have felt rejected and we haven't had the tools and resources to repair that rupture, so we have ended up taking that pain and patching it up as best we can through making us the problem; only for it to break open at another time, a weeping wound that still smarts.
And even if I did put myself forward in earnest now, dusted off my manuscript for my book, ‘Human tricky things’; was successful in seeking out an agent and a book deal… it wouldn’t matter.
The 17 year old part of me who showed up at the London Book Fair this week needed to have the space to say, ‘It was a big deal actually, I felt really embarrassed and alone and it made me question my sense of self and... I think they were also right. I don't think I was good enough.' She needed to be able to share that with someone who could truly empathise.
And because she didn't get that, turns out that there is a part of me that is still having a pity party for herself back in the late 1990s. The part that needs to forgive herself for not being ‘knock out of the park, paste it on a billboard’ fantastic.
And I have to walk the walk as well as talk the talk, because wasn't it only a few weeks ago when I was sharing how damaging pity parties can be?
Vulnerability hides where shame resides; the vulnerability of failing and making mistakes and... not being good enough.
Sometimes what we do isn't good enough, but we cannot attach that to our sense of selves. It's easier said than done. We need people around us who can say, 'I see you, I delight in you, in your flame of being and your unique essence.'
Shame cannot survive when we bring those parts of ourselves out from the shadows and tend to them with the love and care that we would tend to a wounded animal, for that is what they are.
We can’t let our dashed dreams when we didn’t have the resources to pick the up the pieces rule how we show up in the world.
We armour ourselves for rejection, not with perfectionism or addiction or critical voices, but with curiosity, compassion and a gentle bemusement at our humanness.
Finally, I just want to share one last poem with you. Last year my son worked hard - with extra classes after school - to get into a prestigious secondary school. He didn't get in. It was tricky to separate my own feelings from his. I helped him to process his frustration and hurt and disappointment and I think he worked... through it.
I wrote this poem:
He’s the one that got away
We received your rejection letter today
And yes, it was with great dismay;
But I need to tell you, need to say:
He’s the one that got away.
And you may not notice right away,
May go about your normal day,
But soon you’ll realise plain as day, that:
He’s the one that got away.
For my son’s sweet mind’s as bright as his smile
And even though he didn’t pass your trial
He’s full of charisma, full of style;
I’ll just let that sink in a while…
No, he’s never played the violin,
And there’s not a play that he was in,
And tennis is not where he will win,
But, have you seen his open hearted grin?
And I hear what you have to say:
‘Too many children to find a way’
To invite him in your school to stay...
But I need to tell you, need to say:
He’s the one that got away.
Funny how stories repeat themselves until we learn how to heal them. ✨
I wonder if this resonated with you? I hope that if it did, you can find a way to say to yourself, 'I see you, I delight in you, in your flame of being and your unique essence.'
That's it for now,
'Til next time
Jacky ✨