Dispelling the Glamour

In tales of old, Heroes, as in the capital H varieties who fought monsters and evil, were typically demigods lauded for their prowess in battle, and praised for their physical and mental strength. I taught this for years, but never considered the loneliness that many of these heroes faced.

I’d like to be clear, I in no way think of myself as a hero, but the lessons of the epics still apply today, especially in this situation.

You see, one of the struggles with becoming a hero is that you develop a charismatic aura, a glamor, if you will, that develops once the protagonist has done something worthy. With each deed, that image of self is reflected to the public, and not only is this person seen as strong because he or she conquered the evil, but because they are seen as practically untouchable after defeating demons and their ilk.

Our modern equivalent is the use of defense mechanisms. If you hadn’t caught on, one of mine is humor. I turn most things into a joke, because it makes it easier for me to deal with them, especially if they are difficult, sad, or aggravating. I’ve never been a class clown type, but I do try to take the heat off of any given situation, if I can, by making some sort of self-deprecating or witty comment.

Thus, humor is the first layer of my own personal armor. The second is my intelligence. The third has always been honesty.

I’ve never really done well with lies or false statements. I like things to be factual, real, verifiable information. Show me in a book where you got that idea. What study are you using to support that thought? Yes officer, I was driving 14 miles over the speed limit—you’re correct.

However, I also use this honesty as a shield. I give people more than what they expect, but not typically the full story of everything I’m thinking or feeling. This gains trust, and allows the other person to think he/she are seeing the real, slightly vulnerable me. It is a calculated risk, using my intelligence and my desire for truth reflected in others.

But this is only a facet of who I am. It’s rare to have seen me cry, or exhibit an emotion other than happiness, joy, frustration, or disappointment. Few have really seen me angry, fewer yet actual devastation.

Therefore, with this preface, I realize that I come across strong because I make others laugh about my pain, which I disclose tactically and in small doses. This blog, in many ways, was to inform so many people at once about what I knew, but to try and give myself some distance to what I was actually feeling. The only problem was, I actually shared everything I was thinking and feeling, instead of just a part. My vulnerability, as a result, was much higher than I realized.

This brings me to a night I celebrated a friend’s birthday with many mutual friends and family. I knew that, more than likely, most people would know. However, only one or two had reached out to tell me so, and to show support. As the party was in October, it was encouraged to dress up for Halloween. I didn’t have a ton of time, but found a clever outfit that was simple for the event.

I showed up dressed as Waldo. But instead of having everyone find me, I had a nametag which read “Where are my parents?”.

I thought it was hilarious. My friends, not so much.

People laughed awkwardly as I arrived. One person even said something to the extent of “I’m glad you’re handling this so well…”.

Except I wasn’t, at least, internally.

The spectacle of all of this was still so real. I didn’t want people finding out in hushed whispers; there had been far too much of that for the past 33 years.

Instead, I wanted to embrace it, head on, with my twisted in-your-face sense of humor. So I did.

But I realize now that for many, it was too much. Especially since many friends, some whom I considered family, haven’t really spoken to me now in months, if not years.

I was angry about that for a while. How dare people leave me in my moment of need? I did my best to always be there for people I cared about. I was consistently a shoulder to cry on, or someone to talk to and offer advice. Why wasn’t I able to get that in return? How could I not be hurt by their callousness? The pain of not even being asked a genuine “How are you doing?” was second only to the general sense of betrayal I’d felt for weeks.  There was a slow, angry burn inside me for a long time, fueled by the silence of supposed friends who never once picked up the phone to check on me.

With time having passed, I realize two things now. The first is what I wrote about earlier—that when you are perceived as strong it’s difficult for others to know or be aware you need support.

In my experience, strong people gain their strength by surviving difficult situations. There’s so many metaphors about being forged in the fire of challenges, that we forget a fundamental truth—there’s often no discussion about support given to these strong people. And that is, that many people often disengage, so our strong hero is left alone to face whatever is plaguing him or her.

Dr. Seuss explains it well, in Oh The Places You’ll Go (one of my favorite books, which I read to my graduating students every year),

I'm afraid that some times
you'll play lonely games too.
Games you can't win
'cause you'll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you'll be quite a lot.

And when you're alone, there's a very good chance
you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.”

I’ve always been impressed by the wisdom of Dr. Seuss in that book, and this section, especially, explains something I’ve felt often during the past few years. To be honest, so much of the past two years have literally and figuratively scared me out of my pants.

As a classic over-achiever, it’s difficult to ask for help, so I expected that in a time of such an emotional upheaval as finding out about my adoption, everyone would come running.

Some did, and I’m forever grateful.

Many didn’t.

But maybe they would have if my armor wasn’t so thick, and they realized I was hurting.

Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing this now.

However, the second lesson is one that I’ve fought against for years, and that is that sometimes people grow apart because their experiences are only similar for a limited amount of time. And that’s ok. Not only is it ok, it’s important to part with fondness for each other.

This I’ve accepted to be true, because we all walk through life with different experiences, desires, dreams, and biases, and we pick up many more along our journey. Some people are the friends we need at that moment, to help or encourage us with a particular awareness for something, to assist in solving a problem faced, or help to develop skill you wanted to hone. Others evolve into forever friends, offering love, wisdom, and kindness freely, and become the family we choose.

Both types of friends are valid and cherished forever, I have always struggled with letting my people go, even if it’s clear we have grown apart, because the constancy of the friendship seemed more important than allowing something new to come along. While change is painful, pain is the only way to know that you are growing and changing.

Thanks to my chosen family, I know that I’m stronger now because you saw through, and sometimes fought through, my defense mechanisms. I’m forever grateful for your support, compassion, and kindness.

If you’re someone who hasn’t been an active part of my life over the past few months, know that while I miss you, I wish you well. Maybe we’ll reconnect one day.

Most of all, if you are like me and hate to show others your vulnerability because you’re afraid of being weak, I hope you begin to realize that there are many people who care about you. These people care so much that whatever kinds of metaphorical dragons you are facing, they’d fight them with you. But they can only help you if you let them.

My experience has been to learn to lean into those offering help. I’ve found that when you allow yourself to be vulnerable, you often find new avenues for strength in ways and experiences you couldn’t have guessed. Yes, there will be hurt now and then, but there will also be unexpected joy.

Embrace those around you, and your joy.