Saturday, August 18, 2007

on pastels, introspection, supportive friends, and ripple effects

A chance find of an article about gender segregation in toys [dated December 1999, but still sadly relevant] got me thinking about pastels for girls, earth tones for boys, dolls and shopping and cooking for girls, guns and trucks and Legos for boys. How much of it is just part of who we are, how much of it is learned?

Then I thought about yet another way in which Stacey is a freak: she prefers darker colors, dressing in blacks and reds; she isn't into patterns and fringe and fluff when decorating [my place is mostly white upholstery and darker woods, with black, deep red, and dark green accents]; she doesn't watch Oprah, has never seen "Fried Green Tomatoes" or "Thelma and Louise"; she likes math and patterns and playing with words and numbers, works in the mostly-male-dominated IT support field...I could go on and on and on.

And *that* train of thought led me to thinking about a past love who said he appreciated my "uniqueness", but then spent most of our nearly three years together trying to change me, mold me, turn me into something he was more comfortable with. "Let's lighten up your wardrobe", "Some pastels would really soften you up, feminize you", "Hey, let's go shopping, I'll buy you some clothes that are different colors", "Those boots are so clunky...you'd look so much more feminine in a strappy heel." At first it was fun, like playing dress up, but it just wasn't me.

It took me a while to figure out just how much my confidence in myself was eroding from statements like this, day in, day out. Oh, there were a lot of other issues in play, it wasn't just being teased about how I dressed or ate or didn't cook or was scared about losing my individuality if we had kids or feared that I would end up with cancer [both my grandmother and mother had/have cancer]. But the "soften you up, make you more feminine" thing came up very early in the relationship, and I didn't come to recognize it as a warning sign until much later. After much talking, trying, couple's counseling, individual counseling, crying, bargaining, arguing, introspection, and tears I eventually made the hard decision to end the engagement, move out, move on [we are definitely better friends than partners].

Fast forward two years. I am on my own, far more accepting of myself, more confident. I like myself. Lots to keep working on, but generally, I'm okay with myself.

And I have a great support group around me. A small, close circle of friends and family who accept me as I am, even celebrate those things that make me "Stacey". They are all individuals themselves, and I love that I can surround myself with people I love, admire, respect. People who support me, have my back, encourage me, give me jolts of reality when I need it. People I trust, people who have seen me vulnerable, seen me strong, seen me happy/sad/neutral/manic/panicked/in charge/making it up/planning it out. People who have seen *me*, and are okay with what that means.

The irony of it is that without the hellish period of 2000-2001 and then the introspection and learning period of a few years ago, I wouldn't be where I am, and I wouldn't be able to appreciate the support and love of the folks around me. If I hadn't been willing/able to move on, to let go, to get out of a situation that wasn't healthy for me, then I wouldn't be stronger in myself now. And if I hadn't gone through what I did seven years ago, I wouldn't have had the self-awareness it took to even *see* the situation I was in a few years ago and then to act on it.

It all ties together. Everything we do, each choice we make...it all goes into who we are and how we see life. I finally chose not to compromise who I was and who I wanted to be...which in turn led me to my current circle of friends, the ones my parents were impressed with and loved, the ones that are so different and so individual, who in turn allow me to be different and individual.

Said it before and I'll say it again: I'm a lucky person.

But I'll add this: I worked damn hard to get this lucky.

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