It seems like a strange question to ask someone, to ask of oneself - who are you?
I started reading Viola Davis’ memoir the other day “Finding Me” and in the beginning of her book she recounts a conversation that she has with Wil Smith while on a movie set where he asks her the same probing question. The question was the beginning of a journey of self reflection which led to her book.
The essence of her conclusion and that of Smith as well, harkens back to their childhood. To a younger version of their self which at first blush, is to be despised, chastised, be embarrassed by.
I have not had a lot of therapy, but I am sure that I have not had enough either. In previous sessions of therapy, I have been encouraged to picture my younger self, seated next to me, and to embrace that younger version of myself, love and accept him. To be honest, I have always chided at this notion, found it fanciful, if not borderline ridiculous. That is until recently, thanks to Viola and perhaps Wil Smith.
I am sure that I have recounted elements of my childhood in this blog at times, but at the risk of repeating myself, I will do it one more time. I was born with the unfortunate gift of having red hair, at a time when being a “ginger” was not cool at all. My hair to be honest, wasn’t red, but flaming orange - Howdy Doody orange - and it was a constant reminder for most of my adolescence of how uncool I was. Added to the ensemble of uncoolness was the need to wear glasses from an early age. I can still remember the taunting of “goggles pizonos” hurled my way. To top of the list, I had ears that were a bit too large for my head (at the time) which gave those inclined to bully me one more flaw to point to. The combination of these physical attributes were enough on their own, but then you had to add to the mix my serious personality and my intelligence which I wasn’t shy about sharing, and you can easily see how I was a target for many within my small rural community.
I can’t actually remember a time, even in my final year of high school when I wasn’t teased and mocked for looking the way I did. I remember one teacher at Kathryn School (I was in grade three) who actually picked me up by both of my ears in frustration and anger. I remember being thrown down a flight of stairs, pushed and punched, having things thrown at me. But probably more damaging than the physical bullying was the assault on my psyche that seemed at times constant. It drove me to have a constant longing for acceptance, to be part of the group, that I was on one hand part of, and on the other hand, excluded from. I was never in the “in crowd” even when our crowd was only thirty people deep. Growing up in a rural school, it was impossible to be anonymous. Attending a K-12 school afforded a full range of kids to have at me, not just those who were my immediate peers.
Recently reflecting on this time in my life, with my new therapist, she noted that I must have been lonely, and isolated, to which I responded “I guess I was?”
What does all of this have to do with the question Who Are You? And as previously stated, until recently, I would have answered that question with a resounding answer of “NOTHING!”. But now I am not so sure. For most of my life, if not all of it, I have looked upon that younger version of me as weak, a coward, and an embarrassment. I was not, still am not, found of that young orange-haired spectacled kid. However, during that past couple of days, I am beginning to see that kid in a slightly different light. Instead of seeing him as weak, and a coward, I am beginning to see him as resilient, strong, defiant, a survivor. After all, he never gave up, and got me through it all, despite the abuse he endured.
I don’t have this all figured out, by any means. I haven’t reconciled with the twelve year-old version of myself yet. I truthfully am not quite sure even how to do that. But for the first time in my life, I am beginning to see that scared little boy less as a coward, and more as a brave young boy, who stood in the midst of it all, and walked through the flames to the other side. The Enneagram is described as a learned personality type that we adopt in childhood, which serves us well then, and then as we age and mature, tends not to serve us well any longer. That young kid, needed to find ways to be strong, to defend himself, and at times others, to be defiant, brash, and unfortunately, he learned to bury the hurt and pain that he experienced on a weekly basis deep down where no one else could see it. I am beginning to understand how the coping strategies of my younger self worked then, but are not great strategies any longer. But I am also beginning to realize that rather than trying to run away from that kid that I have found to be an embarrassment for most of my life, I should embrace instead, and congratulate for his strength and bravery. I haven’t yet figured out how to reach out and put an arm around the shoulder of my virtual younger self, but at least I am now open to the idea of it. More work to do.