You don't like me. And that's O.K.
There are two moms at my son's school who I am quite sure don't like me.
It's not that they're necessarily unfriendly toward me - they'll speak to me and they'll smile at me - but there's a coolness there that I'm not seeing when they engage other people in discussion.
Like, as in, they actually engage other people in discussion. I could stand around one or both of them for a good length of time and I won't get much more than a polite "hello" or, if I push a little, an awkward conversation where we're both trying to get out of it because it's clearly not working. Like bad sex. Ever had bad sex and you're kind of just wanting to get it over with so you can never call each other again? Exactly like that, but at a school and with clothes on.
At first I thought maybe they're just uncomfortable in my presence because I'm a fine specimen of a human being. I have great hair and can knock back an extra-large coffee faster than you can say "Maven, you shouldn't drink coffee so fast because it can burn your esophagus and cause your heart to rupture." Who wouldn't be a little intimidated by my mad skillages?
But then, one day, I added it all up. And I remembered what I learned flipping through that book "He's Just Not That Into You" while I was at the bookstore bored out of my mind and drinking a latte at esophagus-scorching speeds. And it dawned on me: Hey, Maven? These chicks just aren't that into you.
Weird, right? I get that every now and then. Some people, for whatever reason, just don't really like me. Blows. My. Mind.
My old self would have been heartbroken by this realization. I'm The Maven, mistress of mayhem, caffeine whisperer, recipient of the Mediocre Parenting Award several years running... and I'm funny, dammit. What's not to like?
And then I would have tried to do everything in my power to make them appreciate me the way I should be appreciated.
I would have figured out their interests by listening to the conversations they have with other parents. Then, when I initiated strained polite conversation with them the next time, I would have thrown in, "Boy, I can't wait to go track down broken pieces of tile so I can make that bistro table this weekend. Oh, that's right! You do mosaics too, don't you?" then prayed that I wasn't asked what kind of glue I use or what finishing spray I prefer or whatever it is you use when you do mosaics because I only watched enough of a YouTube video to know that you glue things around other things so that they fit and look nice.
I would have studied their look - because everyone has a look - and determined that they're hipster types, then taken a gamble that they're also attachment parenting types because the two tend to go together from previous observation. And then I would have thrown things around, like my 2 years studying lactation, my work as a postpartum doula, the fact that I nursed my co-slept babies until they were ready to wean, and other things that make AP parents weak in the knees. And then, when they erected a shrine to my crunchy, I would have maybe invited them over for a playdate so I could feed them organic, fair-traded, locally-roasted coffee while our kids went all Waldorf in the backyard.
And if none of that worked, I would have stayed up late a few nights, sad and wondering what the hell is so wrong with me that people don't like me.
I've always had this deep desire to be accepted. This might have something to do with being a complete outcast at school, and possibly getting set on fire in grade 7 (I wish I was kidding - even though that would be a bad joke.) Having grown up feeling awkward, different and out of place, there has always been this need to get people to like me even if I had to go to great lengths to do it. You being my friend - your validation - meant that I was okay. Your approval of me, my decisions, my opinions meant that I was a good person. And if you didn't like me, that certainly meant I was defective.
That line of thinking, my friends (or not friends - and that's okay), is exhausting. It's toxic and debilitating. Imagine the effort I put in. I could have done so many other things with that energy, like cleaned my windows or solved the global food crisis. Instead of focusing on the people in my life who do accept me, I chose to obsess over the people who didn't.
But it goes deeper than that.
Focusing on the people who accept me isn't good, either. Friend counting isn't the answer because a set number of people in my posse should not define me or how I feel about myself. Yes, I have a big support circle, but if I don't like me then that's not going to make me feel better when someone doesn't choose to hop on board the Maven Love Train.
(I really wish there was a Maven Love Train. It would be hot pink and have disco balls in the cars, and people could ride for a pound of coffee and a promise to do a karaoke duet with me.)
It took a lot of soul-searching to realize that I was still trying to make those kids at school like me. And I never will because that was a long time ago and I can't change what happened. School pretty much sucked, and that's unfortunate, but it also made me into the person I am today. The person who, unfortunately, does not have a hot pink locomotive at her disposal.
I had to learn to like me for me and be comfortable in my own shoes. Do I have faults? I sure do. I'm obnoxious, inappropriate, loud, opinionated, verbose, and I tend to use big words even when it's unnecessary. There's some other stuff too but I was starting to depress myself a little. Everyone has faults. We are perfectly imperfect human beings; works of art that take a lifetime to complete. There's still a lot to like about me, however, and I'm finding that I appreciate those things more and more as I get older. As I grow and learn to love myself, what other people think of me becomes less important.
The surprising thing here is not that these women don't seem to like me (although we all know how surprising that is), but that I found myself - for the first time ever - perfectly okay with that. I smile at them when I see them and I do try to make a bit of conversation, but only so we don't stand around in awkward silence and act like we're doing other things, such as rudely texting people when there's a live person in front of you to talk to. I don't dislike them for disliking me, either. There's no big resentment there because I'm not offended. That was huge for me. It's really okay that we won't be BFFs. I don't need to tell them I'm a crunchy goddess or pretend I slice my fingers on ceramics making tables. I broadcast amazingness all the time; they're just not tuned into my channel, that's all.
Kids, the moral of the story is this: You may not be everybody's cup of tea, but as long as you enjoy your own taste, that's all that matters.
Shit, no. No. That came out all wrong. So very, very wrong. Let's try again.
Kids, the moral of the story is this: You may or may not be everybody's cup of tea, but as long as you know you're steeped in awesomeness, that's all that matters.
There we go.
 |
| They don't actually look like this. |
It's not that they're necessarily unfriendly toward me - they'll speak to me and they'll smile at me - but there's a coolness there that I'm not seeing when they engage other people in discussion.
Like, as in, they actually engage other people in discussion. I could stand around one or both of them for a good length of time and I won't get much more than a polite "hello" or, if I push a little, an awkward conversation where we're both trying to get out of it because it's clearly not working. Like bad sex. Ever had bad sex and you're kind of just wanting to get it over with so you can never call each other again? Exactly like that, but at a school and with clothes on.
At first I thought maybe they're just uncomfortable in my presence because I'm a fine specimen of a human being. I have great hair and can knock back an extra-large coffee faster than you can say "Maven, you shouldn't drink coffee so fast because it can burn your esophagus and cause your heart to rupture." Who wouldn't be a little intimidated by my mad skillages?
But then, one day, I added it all up. And I remembered what I learned flipping through that book "He's Just Not That Into You" while I was at the bookstore bored out of my mind and drinking a latte at esophagus-scorching speeds. And it dawned on me: Hey, Maven? These chicks just aren't that into you.
Weird, right? I get that every now and then. Some people, for whatever reason, just don't really like me. Blows. My. Mind.
My old self would have been heartbroken by this realization. I'm The Maven, mistress of mayhem, caffeine whisperer, recipient of the Mediocre Parenting Award several years running... and I'm funny, dammit. What's not to like?
And then I would have tried to do everything in my power to make them appreciate me the way I should be appreciated.
I would have figured out their interests by listening to the conversations they have with other parents. Then, when I initiated strained polite conversation with them the next time, I would have thrown in, "Boy, I can't wait to go track down broken pieces of tile so I can make that bistro table this weekend. Oh, that's right! You do mosaics too, don't you?" then prayed that I wasn't asked what kind of glue I use or what finishing spray I prefer or whatever it is you use when you do mosaics because I only watched enough of a YouTube video to know that you glue things around other things so that they fit and look nice.
I would have studied their look - because everyone has a look - and determined that they're hipster types, then taken a gamble that they're also attachment parenting types because the two tend to go together from previous observation. And then I would have thrown things around, like my 2 years studying lactation, my work as a postpartum doula, the fact that I nursed my co-slept babies until they were ready to wean, and other things that make AP parents weak in the knees. And then, when they erected a shrine to my crunchy, I would have maybe invited them over for a playdate so I could feed them organic, fair-traded, locally-roasted coffee while our kids went all Waldorf in the backyard.
And if none of that worked, I would have stayed up late a few nights, sad and wondering what the hell is so wrong with me that people don't like me.
I've always had this deep desire to be accepted. This might have something to do with being a complete outcast at school, and possibly getting set on fire in grade 7 (I wish I was kidding - even though that would be a bad joke.) Having grown up feeling awkward, different and out of place, there has always been this need to get people to like me even if I had to go to great lengths to do it. You being my friend - your validation - meant that I was okay. Your approval of me, my decisions, my opinions meant that I was a good person. And if you didn't like me, that certainly meant I was defective.
That line of thinking, my friends (or not friends - and that's okay), is exhausting. It's toxic and debilitating. Imagine the effort I put in. I could have done so many other things with that energy, like cleaned my windows or solved the global food crisis. Instead of focusing on the people in my life who do accept me, I chose to obsess over the people who didn't.
But it goes deeper than that.
Focusing on the people who accept me isn't good, either. Friend counting isn't the answer because a set number of people in my posse should not define me or how I feel about myself. Yes, I have a big support circle, but if I don't like me then that's not going to make me feel better when someone doesn't choose to hop on board the Maven Love Train.
(I really wish there was a Maven Love Train. It would be hot pink and have disco balls in the cars, and people could ride for a pound of coffee and a promise to do a karaoke duet with me.)
It took a lot of soul-searching to realize that I was still trying to make those kids at school like me. And I never will because that was a long time ago and I can't change what happened. School pretty much sucked, and that's unfortunate, but it also made me into the person I am today. The person who, unfortunately, does not have a hot pink locomotive at her disposal.
I had to learn to like me for me and be comfortable in my own shoes. Do I have faults? I sure do. I'm obnoxious, inappropriate, loud, opinionated, verbose, and I tend to use big words even when it's unnecessary. There's some other stuff too but I was starting to depress myself a little. Everyone has faults. We are perfectly imperfect human beings; works of art that take a lifetime to complete. There's still a lot to like about me, however, and I'm finding that I appreciate those things more and more as I get older. As I grow and learn to love myself, what other people think of me becomes less important.
The surprising thing here is not that these women don't seem to like me (although we all know how surprising that is), but that I found myself - for the first time ever - perfectly okay with that. I smile at them when I see them and I do try to make a bit of conversation, but only so we don't stand around in awkward silence and act like we're doing other things, such as rudely texting people when there's a live person in front of you to talk to. I don't dislike them for disliking me, either. There's no big resentment there because I'm not offended. That was huge for me. It's really okay that we won't be BFFs. I don't need to tell them I'm a crunchy goddess or pretend I slice my fingers on ceramics making tables. I broadcast amazingness all the time; they're just not tuned into my channel, that's all.
Kids, the moral of the story is this: You may not be everybody's cup of tea, but as long as you enjoy your own taste, that's all that matters.
Shit, no. No. That came out all wrong. So very, very wrong. Let's try again.
Kids, the moral of the story is this: You may or may not be everybody's cup of tea, but as long as you know you're steeped in awesomeness, that's all that matters.
There we go.