For Colored Girls Who Have a Hard Time Believing She's Enuf.
A few years ago, I declared on Facebook that I was finally DELIVERT from the “fear of man”, a culturally Christian phrase proclaiming that I was completely cured, in Jesus’ name, from allowing the negativity of others to keep me from walking in my God-given purpose. Naturally, because it’s social media and it was exactly the kind of post people like to see (positivity! strength! self-assurance!), I got lots of likes from my online community which helped me believe the lie I was telling myself.
There’s always a story behind the little anecdotes and heavy-hitting, engaging posts I make, but back when I was still so unsure of myself, I left the full story out and just kept the good parts that would make for a good public image. In this case, what had happened was that I’d finally stopped letting coworkers run roughshod all over my skills and abilities and started to let my work speak for itself, which led to a project breakthrough.
It was only one data point, but it was all I needed to prove to the world that I’d finally unlocked the code to being dissatisfied, hurt, and personally attacked by people who had no desire to see me win. I took that W, turned it into a pedestal for my own self-aggrandizement, and cloaked myself in the idea that it was some kind of divine intervention that my “haters became my motivators.” #FakeDeep
But in reality, my haters didn’t go anywhere. They were present and active when I had to walk into the gauntlet of my office floor, or into a conference room full of disagreeing men and women who discredited my opinions, blatantly took credit for my good work while publicly throwing me under a bus for my mistakes, all under the guise of trying to “make me a better engineer”. It was par for the course, apparently, to give an early career engineer a brick and throw her into the deep side of the pool. Someone in the company actually gave me that analogy, by the way, in an effort to help me see that drowning was for my own good. I believed him and accepted my public flogging thinking eventually it would make me into a better person.
It made me a bitter person.
So the first time I was able to come up for air, I thought it was ALL OVER. I wanted to celebrate. I was ready to throw up metaphorical middle fingers at The Man and The Woman, while I was at it. My plan was to eulogize the people-pleasing gene, then cremate it in front of my entire sphere of influence. Yes, the navel-gazing was strong with this one.
Alas, a god had made my enemies my footstool! So, I decided to make my V-I-C-T-O-R-Y as public as possible. This Real G was not trying to move in silence; I am not lasagna! I wanted to smell my flowers and make sure that everyone could smell them too. This was my chance to shine and I was ready to OVERCOMPENSATE to the best of my ability. I wasn’t cocky, I was confident!
Most importantly, I had to present to the world that I Had Finally Gotten Myself Together.
Spoiler Alert: I Had Not.
Folks, I’m still struggling with the desire to please people at the risk of damaging my own self-worth.
I am the woman who constantly sets herself on fire to keep other people warm.
I am the one who voluntarily lays myself in front of the door of people’s opinions so they can walk all over me as they enter their cozy homes of self-assuredness.
I am the human pretzel, trying to figure out how many more ways I can bend my own body to fit the desires of others, running the high risk of breaking my back.
On great days, having the people-pleasing gene it makes me an excellent leader, an effective collaborator & a great friend. Sometimes, in excess and without wisdom, it places my heart in the hands of people who do not value my humanity, sets me up for exclusion and ultimately runs me ragged until my spirit is withered and is ready to give up. Right now, I feel like I want to give up.
On harder days, that gene feels like a thorn in my side that I cannot get out, or a splinter in my fingers that I cannot always locate. In other words, it is definitely the papercut of my self-identity. Sometimes I want to act like it’s not a thing, like I did back then, but it is still very much present, and it has followed me out of industry and into my Peace Corps life.
When I look back — hindsight really is 20/20 — I can see that the struggle to be accepted and often not succeeding was present in my extracurricular activities all throughout my life, and right up until this very moment. I mean guys, there is no other reason why I’d be up writing in my journal at 3am, nor why I am currently drafting the first version of this post at 4:43am, listening to my gospel playlist in a mostly failed effort to clear my mind of all of the negativity I’ve recently received after giving my heart to yet another project.
There is no zen in losing sleep over my inability to Win Others Over, no matter how hard I try. I am a WOO girl through and through. I am embracing the hard truths about who I am, and in some ways, who I will always be. I am learning to love her, to validate her, and to learn how to wield her magic wisely.
Winning kids over elevates my Peace Corps life so I'm gonna hold onto this WOO girl thing.
Are you struggling with this exact same thing as me? Or is there something else in your life you thought you’d been miraculously freed from, only to find years later that you still circle around it like sea gulls around a bag of Doritos on the beach? Yeah, you’re not alone. I feel ashamed actually writing this, but I know that by shining a light into some of the hardest parts of my story, I am beginning the start of a healing process.
Hear me out: I do not expect to be healed from my desire to be accepted by others for who I am and the visions I bring to the tables at which I sit. I believe that this is a God-given desire, and it is beautiful because everything He creates is good. But I do want to experience healing from the way my heart feels when I’ve been publicly shamed by people who seemingly enjoy witnessing me take major L’s. I want to bounce back faster when I am knocked down.
Sometimes, I don’t want to fall at all.
I want to be healed from the inability to pinpoint these people — Crazymakers, as coined by Julia Cameron in The Artist’s Way — who’d rather pick me apart and watch me bleed out rather than partnering to help me grow as a woman. I want to have stronger discernment to see people with clarity; to prune out men and women from my life who only wish to bring harm to the calling that God has on my life.
I want to experience the wisdom needed to know how to express my dreams, expose my fears, and examine my heart better so that I can stand strong when I experience people actively trying to break me down; to place the haters in a place where they cannot access the deepest parts of my identity.
I made a bold, proud declaration back then about being rid of a part of me that I now believe the true and living God wants me to fully embrace as part of my flawed humanity. I will not be perfect; rather, I will pursue the utmost of my calling for His highest glory, which means walking through the fire of people’s opinions and misguided expectations as I continue be who I am and create spaces for people to experience freedom.
Accepting this reality is important because it reminds me of my fragility and my desperate, constant need for God’s comfort, Jesus’ power, and the Holy Spirit’s wisdom to carry me through the moments when Things Fall Apart. But His strength is made perfect in my weakness. This life is not about me and my story of triumph, but about reflecting the Creator’s plan and embracing His unfailing love towards me. He’s got me and my flaws covered.
My name is Arielle and I Am Still Getting Myself Together.
Like Heather Beachler, I am doing my best, and my best is good enough.
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