I HAD TO LEARN TO BE LIKABLE

When I was in middle school, I got called into the head teacher’s office. It was a small private school, so I was already familiar with him and his colorful bowties. What I was less familiar with was what happened next. For reasons I still don’t totally understand, Doc, as we affectionately called him, had called a meeting so my two (mostly former) best friends could tell me all the reasons I sucked.

As a middle school girl, it’s not unheard of to wake up one day and be hit with a preplanned barrage of criticism from your peers. Preteen social dynamics can be cutthroat and cruel. What made this incident special, though, was this attack was sanctioned by an authority figure. It sent the message that something was so wrong with me, I needed to be formally admonished. I believe he also called my mother to complain about me, but she’s dead now, so I can’t call her to check.* Either way, the experience stung and worked its way into my conception of self. People did not like me.

At some point around this time, I was sent to a social skills class. I have no memory of what I learned there, but it’s become one of my favorite fun facts to share at parties. I went to a social skills class when I was twelve, I’ll say with a smile and a laugh, not giving away the years of turmoil that must have led my parents to make that decision. It’s only funny now because I no longer present as someone who would need that kind of intervention. I appear “fixed.” And in many ways I am.

Growing up with OCD, I had a very black and white view of the world. People were either all good or all bad. Actions were either totally just or completely abhorrent. Having this level of judgment leveled at you from an eight year old isn’t exactly a good time. Add in the fact that I was unable to censor myself and shared every offensive thought that popped into my head, it makes some sense why an adult man thought he should create a special meeting so my friends could shit on me. Actually, no it doesn’t. That was so weird and inappropriate. That incident aside, though, I recognize the role my behavior and personality played in my various social struggles over the years. There was a reason I had a pattern of making friends and losing friends then making new friends and losing them too. I was that reason. Although, my anxiety, OCD and bouts of depression deserve honorable mention.

As an adult, it’s been fascinating to hear people talk about the healing power of unmasking because, in many ways, I have had the exact opposite experience. Until my mid-twenties, I was raw and exposed, unable to keep myself to myself. My metaphorical mouth was permanently open and spewing whatever came to mind. I desperately wanted a mask, I just couldn’t find one that fit.

It took more than a decade for the social skills I (probably) learned in that class to finally kick in. With intention and mindfulness, I started to get better at deciding what I was going to say and how I was going to say it. I became more comfortable living in the gray that being a part of society requires of us. I try to see where other people are coming from even if I don’t agree with them. I do my best to not interrupt. I constantly censor myself.

Taken out of context, this transformation might seem detrimental, like I am losing my true self in order to fit in. But humans are social creatures, and in order for me to have the close relationships I crave, I needed to change how I interacted with other people. Now, I will gladly trade my bluntness for friendship. My dark humor can take a night off in service of my career. We all make accommodations to be a part of a community, which is markedly different than pretending to be someone else or squeezing yourself so small you barely exist at all.

One of the unexpected outcomes of my campaign to become likable is that I am at peace with not being everyone’s cup of tea. If I operate in a way I approve of and you still don’t like me, oh well. The goal isn’t to shapeshift in order to people please. Instead, I did my best to develop skills that allow my more important traits to shine. Because no one has the energy or interest to notice your humor, intelligence and kindness when you are rubbing everyone the wrong way.

Part of me wishes I could go back and tell my middle school self that she will get better at being a person. That one day, that feeling of otherness will fade away. She’d probably say something tactless in response. Or demand I prove time travel is real if I don’t want to be reported to the authorities. I have so much empathy for that version of myself, bursting with huge feelings and moral superiority. But I am also glad to have left her behind.

xoxo,

Allison

*This is a good example of the way I talk when I don’t censor myself. Many would describe it as “off-putting” or “inappropriate.”

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