Recently I met with a student that was looking for a summer job. She didn't know what she wanted, but knew what she didn't want. To me, that is just as important so I pushed forward into the appointment, excited about the conversation ahead. As we talked about possibilities and I showed her the resources available, she continued to shoot down every suggestion or opportunity. I was a bit irritated (I hadn't finished my cup of coffee yet), but would not be deterred. She was abrupt, distant and really irritated herself. I let her know that maybe it would actually be an important step to just explore and seek herself out a bit.
At that, she erupted into tears. I realized that the tough exterior was just a facade for the pain inside. She felt inadequate, confused and overwhelmed. I let her cry and reminded her she was doing the right things, and it would all become clearer as she moved forward. I said I'd been in her shoes and told her my story. In her brokenness, I hope she found some relief. She thanked me with a fist full of tissues and watery eyes, and left my office.
Immediately after, I met with another young woman who would soon be interviewing for a prestigious program. She said she knew how to interview and communicate, and I believed her. She asked me all the right questions during our appointment but at the end, she admitted she lacked the confidence she needed to succeed. I honestly didn't know what to say, because I am not a psychiatrist or trained counselor. So I told her my story and encouraged her to own hers. To write it down and be assured of her strengths and unique qualities. No one can take that away from her. She thanked me with a big sigh, and left my office.
My heart is heavy.
How often do we hide our fears, insecurities and ambivelence in a tightly woven package of certainty and indignation. We fake confidence and assurance so no one can see what the real problem is below the surface. We skirt around the real issue, asking all the right questions, when the real questions lay silent and dormant in our hearts. We're never satisfied, never quite happy, and it's because we don't want to let anyone see what is on the inside.
Women, particularly, wrestle with this because we want to do the right thing. We don't want to disappoint or hurt others, so we damage ourselves and fight against our insecurities all alone. Those girls could have been me in college. We need to fight alongside them, and tell them that we have been there too.
These young women need to hear our stories. The ones that we have tucked away and hidden from the world. The ones that we are ashamed of. The opportunity we turned down out of fear of failure, the years of self-abuse or eat disorders, the broken relationships that left us scarred and unloveable.
The way we overcame and grew and learned and discovered.
Our story can be their story, too. But they can't see it right now, because they are only on page 10. They haven't quite reached the climax and the conclusion seems non-existent. Their character is still undefined.
Today I shared with these sweet girls, these strong young women, that I failed. That I broke down. That I felt lost. That I was uncertain, confused and broken.
That I stood up, defined my character and moved forward. That I took ownership of my story and penned it in my own hand and told it to myself every day.
I told them that they can write their own stories, too, if they first discover what's on the inside.
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