Getting The Edge Back

Getting The Edge Back
by Cynthia Morse

I have always been a people pleaser. Throughout my formative years I got good grades to please my parents, behaved well in class to please my teachers, and even misbehaved occasionally to please my friends. It was the same story after high school: I listened to mainstream music that I didn’t really like, went to top-10 movies that never touched me, and agonized over my weight, hoping I could measure up to the genetically blessed models in the magazines.

Then I turned 25.

It wasn’t the age that made the difference. It was just that after so many years of being a mirror of the people I most wanted to please, I finally started to wonder why nobody was trying to imitate me. That’s when it hit me:

I was nice. Sweet. Book smart.

And incredibly boring.

In my attempt to be as agreeable and non-abrasive as possible, I had lost any edge to my personality. I was the one in the group who was always grinning but never had anything valuable to say. I would nod, smile, agree heartily with what was said, furrow my brow to make it look like I was thinking something profound, but in the end I was always the one answering the question, “What was your name again?”

Of course, I realized one tearful night as I wrote in my journal, it was entirely an issue of self-esteem. I didn’t think I had anything valuable to showcase, so I let everyone but me determine who I was. And they were all getting it wrong.

Realizing this was even more liberating than the day I decided to move 1200 miles away from my parents and live on my own. Because once I was able to step outside myself and see the unremarkable and unmemorable façade I had built, there was suddenly nothing that could stop me from tearing it down. It was time to reclaim myself, with all of my fumbling imperfections, eclectic musical tastes, moody moments and even the occasional flashes of insight. There were three things I did that made it happen:

Solution #1: Gain perspective on a situation by actually answering the “what-ifs.” Example: What if I choose not to laugh at something that I don’t find funny, and the person talking thinks I don’t have a sense of humor? Response: Well, do I have a sense of humor? Yes. Is it the same as the humor-impaired person cracking bad jokes in front of me? No. And that doesn’t make me any less lovable. In fact, by losing the canned, standard responses, I have found that my mind is suddenly free to come up with quips of my own.

Solution #2: Take control of my happiness and comfort. I had a friend tell me she was so over committed that she secretly wished she would get in a car accident that would debilitate her for awhile and give her an excuse to drop a few of the balls she was juggling. I could relate to the feeling, and I realized that what she was really saying was that she didn’t feel like she had the power to make her situation more bearable. She would rather get in a car accident than take control of her own situation and eliminate the stressors herself.

When I looked at it from that perspective, I realized that rather than just enduring situations that made me unhappy, I could change my behavior to change the outcome. This manifests itself in speaking up when something is bothering me rather than letting it fester. Changing my mind about commitments and freeing up my time. Accepting the fact that I don’t like doing some of the things my friends like to do, and opting not to do them rather than tagging along to please the crowd.

Solution #3: Get out of Dwell Hell. I used to come home agonizing over something I had done or said that had come out completely wrong. I would replay the scene in my mind, cringing each time and mentally flogging myself for doing something so stupid. Now I am much kinder to myself because I have finally figured out that no matter how much I wish I had done something differently, there is no way to change it. It seems like a simple, obvious thing, but it’s a hard habit to break.

Now I try to live without regrets. When I make a mistake, I remember the lesson and let the rest go. What strangers and acquaintances think of me is now irrelevant. My friends and family know the real me and accept the rough, imperfect edges that make me who I am.

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