A stranger to myself, but still chasing their forgiveness
A few years ago my dad told me -- I remember the moment, being in the car, I don't know why -- that I had always been very independent and had not cared what others thought. I was a bit shocked, or at least disappointed that he didn't really know me.
Of course I know why I appear this way. Since childhood I have been unable to be the person others wanted me to be -- especially peers my own age. Sure, in some ways I embraced being weird, but it didn't start as a choice. Even in middle school I remember seeing the other girls and feeling like there was a texture difference, like we were not in the same animated style. And I felt like a failure from it.
Was that texture difference a trans thing? Probably, at least in some ways. There were also actual physical differences between me and the girls in my class: though being quite feminine, I did not wear foundation and did not straighten my hair. I'm sure I was not the only one in this, but it felt like I was. This was my "not like other girls" phase -- I'm actually kinda proud it did not last after middle school.
Did I care about what my bullies said about me? Okay, not that much. One time a friend felt obligated to tell me, much to her chagrin, that people were calling me crazy behind my back. I think I laughed it off, it was not news to me. I didn't give these people the authority on my sense of self -- but that did not mean I kept it for myself.
I was one of those kids who were always with the adults (as an educator now, I've always felt a kinship with kids like this). I don't mean that I was especially obedient, I had my own sense of right and wrong (okay, writing this I see where the "independent" thing is coming from), but I was reasonable and I cared about the opinion of adults I liked.
Am I rambling for nothing? I mean, it's very ordinary to care about what people you like think of you. It's human nature or something. So why do I feel like I care so much?
I think years of bullying left me with a vague feeling of shame, inadequacy. So I'm looking for approbation in others, but I guess not in an obvious way. I very much want my parents to be proud of me, so why would I tell them about the things I know they'll disapprove of like drugs or misdemeanors?
I told that to my girlfriend yesterday and she had a very insightful, though maybe obvious, answer. I want them to approve of my real, entire self. What's the use of their approval of a mere image of me?
This might also resolve my middle school paradox. I didn't try just putting on foundation, wearing the latest fashion, watch the in vogue TV like my school counselor advised me to. What would have been the point? They wouldn't have liked me for me.
I think the conclusion of this is: I'm (perceived as) independent because, despite caring very much what people think of me, I don't want to change to make them like me more.
This was originally gonna be a post about being cool and how I got into tattoos because I wanted to be cool. It didn't really go in that direction and it could appear contradictory, but maybe I just internalized tattoos into my own sense of coolness. I guess we always internalize some things and not others. Eh. Maybe I'll extend on that another time.
Title is from the song Somewhere Inbetween by Frank Turner, which always hit home and broke my heart on the way.