I’m not sure when I first experienced the emotion of embarrassment, but I am still haunted by one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. It was kindergarten parent night. We had spent days, if not weeks, in preparation for this event. One of the things was preparing various artworks to put up in the classroom. We did simple finger paintings which were to be displayed in the classroom. I entered with my Mom, looking forward to sharing my work with her. But we couldn’t find it.
My last name started with a “B” so my Mom, holding my hand, naturally went toward the front of the classroom looking for my picture. We looked, among the pictures, discerning no rhyme or reason to how they were organized.
Sensing confusion, Miss H, announced to all filling the room that “the finger paintings are not in alphabetical order, they are in the order of how good they are.” So, we walked and walked, passing the pictures of my classmates. With each step, I felt the color in my cheeks rise. It seems it was at the very end of the room! There we found my finger painting.
On the walk, shame filled my heart. “I’m not good.” “What’s wrong with me?” “My painting is ugly.”
The long walk symbolized my inadequacy, my lack of creativity, and my lack of artistic imagination. I recall walking with my head down, listening to the praise others received, and looking to my Mom, who assured me it was a good picture. My mother, who was a social worker and a strong advocate for her children, I’m sure had some words later with the teacher. But, at that moment, I was thoroughly embarrassed and defeated.
From a finger painting, I learned, “I am not creative,” “I am not good,” and “I am not an artist.”
Worse, the message of my inadequacy was relayed to my peers. I had the worst finger painting. Funny, a friend of mine remembering the same event and the same shame, thought her picture was last. Following Miss H’s example, we kindergartners learned to judge, mock and tease, and to value each other according to a standard of beauty of unknown origin.
I cried to my Mom, “I don’t want to go back,” “I don’t want to see my picture at the back of the room,” “I will not fingerpaint again!” EVER!
So, what does this have to do with my creative process today, 60+ years later? It is said that to quell a negative voice, one needs to hear many more positive voices. Fortunately, I’ve heard many. My third-grade teacher saw possibilities in me, and declared “You are a writer!” But that did not necessarily extinguish that first experience of my creativity being publicly shamed and mocked.
So, now to publish my creative efforts, I have to crawl through the muck of Miss H’s and others’ enduring screeches, to find the encouraging voices, and the courage I need to share. So, much of my writing resides in journals, on drives, and in my secret places. I’m still learning to share my work without worrying of judgment. Sharing this recollection is part of that effort.
How about you? Do you have an early memory that undermined your sense of your creativity, intelligence, or worth? Was there a teacher who embarrassed or humiliated you? Does the sting remain? I’m grateful for those who spoke words of affirmation and encouragement to me. All these years later, they help me to press “publish.”
As I approached the house from the garage, my heart sank. The back door was open, actually forced open, swinging oddly as if off the hinge.
“We’ve been robbed!” I hollered to my daughters, both too young to really understand my upset. I grabbed the phone and began to mentally take notice of the house. All the kitchen cabinets were opened, evidence that a peanut butter sandwich had been made, peanut butter still on the knife, and bread was strewn on the counter. There was no jelly, though the open fridge showed the thief had looked.
“Who makes sandwiches while they are robbing someone?”, I wondered aloud.
The 911 operator came on and I reported that my house had been robbed. “Are they still there?”, she asked.
I had not considered that, and I quickly called the girls back to me. “You have children with you? You should go outside and wait she said with a knowing concern. “Officers are on the way.”
I had never been robbed before, so followed the instruction and went outside to wait, taking the girls to the neighbor’s house.
When the police arrived, they went in and immediately, recoiled. “Wow, they cleaned you out!”
“They did?” I said coming in behind them and stretching around to see.
“Your kitchen table is gone!” He started to write it down.
“I didn’t have one,” I said glumly.
But looking around carefully, I noticed a bare wall, “Hey! They took the kitchen clock.”
“The clock? That’s odd.” He wrote down 1 clock.
Into the living room, he yelled, “Your television is gone!”
“No, I didn’t have a television.”
He pointed to an empty corner, and said hopefully, “They took your couch?”
“No, there was no furniture there.”
On my desk, he looked at the pile of papers, obviously ruffled through.
“Oh no, I don’t see the computer I had rented, looks like they took that.”
“You rented a computer?”
“Yes, I had to leave it when I left my home, so I rented one until I can afford to buy another.”
“Okay,” he said, writing down the details I could remember of the computer.
“You didn’t get a TV in the divorce?”
“Stereo?”
“No.”
As we headed to the second floor, I explained. “I have my daughters, my books, things that I value. My books!” I exclaimed, running up the stairs.
“Ma’am, there is no reason to run, in all the years I’ve been doing this, nobody has ever stolen a book.”
Phew… there were my books, still in boxes. Untouched. He peered over my shoulder, “You didn’t get the bookshelves?”
“No, I didn’t get any furniture except my daughters’ stuff. Hey, they took another clock from this room,” I pointed.
“When I get some money, this is going to be my library,” suddenly feeling like I had to offer some explanation for the sparsity of my living condition.
Into my sparse bedroom, he was silent. Looking at the floor by my bed, “Gee, they took my clock radio… I guess that means they took every clock I owned.”
“Well, it looks like they took clocks and a rented computer. You got off pretty well, Miss, they only stole stuff you don’t care about.”
“Why would anyone take clocks?” I murmured.
“Well, they couldn’t leave totally empty-handed, so they took the only things they could find. You are lucky, usually, they will trash a place. . . uh . . .like this.”
My neighbor ventured up the stairs with the girls in tow… they ran into their room, searching . . . and came out each holding their favorite stuffed animals. None of their stuff was taken, and I was pleased.
The officer checked around the house, declared it clean. He and his partner secured the door, and came back to finish the report. Looking at the volume of Colorado Civil Procedure open on my desk… said “Hey — are you a lawyer?”
“Yes,” I said meekly. “I am. I just opened an office on East Colfax.”
“You are a lawyer and you didn’t get anything in your divorce?” He was incredulous, and immediately doubted my prowess as a lawyer given my bad fortune and my dire surroundings.
I explained as I had before to folks, surprised by my poverty. “I had a choice to fight over a bunch of stuff that didn’t matter or leave with the things that mattered most to me and rebuild my life. I know it looks like I’m dirt poor and don’t have anything, but I got the best part. I got my daughters, healthy and happy; my books, my business, and my sanity. I can grow from here.”
In the end, I got the best part. “When you are at rock bottom, there is nowhere to go but up!”
He laughed as he looked at my empty living room, table-less kitchen, and now clock-less home. “You are right!” He declared, “you have nowhere to go but up!”
For a moment, the cloud that had enveloped me since my divorce lifted, and I really believed that it would be all right. My proclamation to the concerned cop had increased my own confidence and faith. I could really see that sometime in the future, I was going to be able to look back at these days one day with fondness. Despite my fear of the robbers coming back, that night I slept soundly, the first time in several months.
A few days later, there was a knock at the door, and there stood the officer, a new television under his arm. He set it in the empty living room explaining he told his fellow officers about me, and they took a collection and bought my children a television. Tears filled my eyes, I can’t take this, I protested. No, it’s yours, he insisted, as my girls started bouncing practically off the walls with delight! “Thank you, thank you so much!”
Lessons in Transitions The two years of 1988-1990 were rock bottom places in my life. I learned that even at rock bottom there are a few more downward slips that can happen. The transitions in this story: from married to single, from partner parents to warring parents, from doing pretty well to impoverished, from looking “marvelous” to being exposed and ashamed are transitions. How we negotiate them is the difference between climbing out of the depths and taking up permanent residence there. Here are four lessons I learned.
You are not the first
There is a tendency to believe that whatever is happening to you has never happened to anyone in the history of humankind. As you take stock of your circumstances, seek to find a broader world view- beyond your own circumstances. Put yourself in the “course of human events.” If you are a reader, read biographies of those who have overcome circumstances similar to yours. Find a coach, mentor, guide, or friends who have had similar experiences and be open to learn from their experiences.
You are not alone
If you are mourning and grieving your losses and no earthly good to your children, your boss, your employees, and your family, find some counseling, quickly. Accept the offers of care, companionship, and concern that come your way. The friends that bolstered me during this dark period are still my friends today. The pure exhaustion of trying to do everything necessary to take care of my family and my business often left some loose ends. Rather than live in squalor, accept the offer of a friend to help clean up your house. Rather than end up with the children having scurvy, accept the offers of meals from friends. Let yourself be doted upon, and cared for by those who love you.
You are not at the end
How many times do we think in absolutes when we face life’s difficult spots? “I’m finished.” “I’ll never. . .” “Why, me?” It may be that your dead marriage is over, but life is not over for you! It may be that the job you were never very good at has mercifully ended with your termination, but it doesn’t mean you’ll not find a position that more aptly expresses your gifting and passion. You may have been evicted for nonpayment of rent, and sofa-surfing with friends, but it’s not the end. Once you accept that it is not the end, you can put one foot in front of the other, stepping, however gingerly, away from the “end” and into the bright unknown of the future. The darkest moments happen just as the dawn breaks. The promise is that the righteous may fall down, but they will get back up!
You are embarking on a new journey
The truth is that without unexpected endings and difficult dark places, there are no new beginnings. Instead of bemoaning these transition periods, pull out the binoculars and look toward the horizon. Ask yourself: “What is over there?” “Where am I going?” “How am I going to get there?” There is enthusiasm in the new – if you allow yourself to experience it.
Break free of wallowing in self-pity, shame, and sadness. Instead, realize that whatever was lost was necessary to shed to move to the next place – allow yourself to heal, and then pack your bags! Get ready for the “what’s next?” Prepare yourself for the new thing. Be on the lookout for the new opportunity! When the knock comes, swing the door open wide, and GO! At the time these things happened, I was far away from my spiritual relationship with Christ, but I can look back now and see his presence in protecting me from …my most unpredictable enemy, myself. What about you, are you in a hard place? Do you need some encouragement to regain your footing? Have you ever had to climb from a pit of despair? Or traverse a mountain of problems? I’d love to hear how you traversed your dark places, in the comments below.
