Good Enough

It happened in fifth grade reading group. I hated reading out loud – each child taking turns standing up to read one at a time. I needed time to become familiar with what I had to read. It came my turn. I stood up and began reading. My best was to read slow and stumble over most of the words. Feeling extremely self-conscious standing in front of my reading group, I caught out of the corner of my eye one girl whisper to another, “listen to Anita read, pass it on.” She silently giggled, whispered the message to the next child in line, creating a chain connecting the group.

I was devastated. True to my ten-year-old pride, I swallowed the ball of fire and rage in my throat, quickly turning it into a ball of pain and self-punishment. The moment I swallowed that anger, I began an unattainable quest to become good enough. I believed if I could be a good enough reader, I would never be ostracized again. If I could be a good enough friend I would be included, despite my lack. If I could be good enough at anything, I would have no problems.  I would never experience pain again.

The pursuit to become good enough has been an obsession for most of my life. At age 53, I got new insight. Those were mean kids. It never was about me. My not being good enough was something I made up in my head. Those kids were dealing with their own insecurities and pain.

I forgive my classmates for not giving me the love and support I so desperately needed at that time. But more importantly, I forgive myself for buying into a big ugly lie and putting myself into a prison of my own making.