I can’t remember the context of the conversation prior, but I’m fourteen, on a vacation with my family. as she turns to leave the room, my older sister laughs in my direction, warmly noting, “you’re so wholesome.”
at fourteen, inherently, some part of you is going to be wholesome. I was literally wearing an old Girl Scouts sweater when it happened. (she wasn’t wrong.) but even years after, the word stung with an itchy heat. I was seeing the comparison: girls I knew already joked about drinking, had lost their baby fat the year before, or held some imaginary edge I couldn’t mirror. I was naïve. innocent. green. I pictured doily socks and freckles. easter sunday. my round face and bangs. the sweet ending being that I don’t associate any of those images with the word now, and that wholesome characteristic has become one of my favorite things about me. the same goes with my frugality, my appetite for sex, my two chipped teeth; these qualities I spent years being embarrassed by, I’ve felt myself start to own.
so how do you map that winding tributary between insecurity and understanding? I’m writing this to point my shoes in the right direction. that joy of growing older: learning to love one characteristic and a new anxiety surfaces. lately, I’ve felt my face burn in recognizing there’s a lot I didn’t retain from schooling, or how eloquent I can sound on paper, but constantly trip over my tongue in conversation. the more I see myself shrink when those precipitating moments occur, the farther away I feel from holding shame in my hands and letting something new grow from it. maybe it’s having a plan for that first reaction of fear. instinct digs a deeper hole in embarrassment when my mind goes blank and my body begs retreat. over the weekend, the same impulse started to boil through me, and in catching myself I noted: next time this happens, I want to laugh, know what I’m experiencing, and observe out loud. share the process taking place step out of that prickled feeling of humiliation, give myself time to recover without scrambling, and move forward. that way, moments lose their heat. they don’t burn etches into the woodwork of my brainstem and come to haunt me later. it’s merely a bump I moved on from.
while that’s one practice I know will take swallowed nerve and humility, then comes that acceptance I want to work towards. how I came to love the green in me was exploring its roots and broadening my perspective. wholesome. the etymology traces the word back to 1200, its meaning: “of benefit to the soul.” being wholesome didn’t mean I wasn’t brave when I needed to be, or shy, or immature. I had observed those opposing strengths in action enough to know this insecurity didn’t obscure those traits. so if I’ve faced hardship, maybe there is something worthwhile in having stared back at the terrifying and remaining light-hearted, or keeping that inclination to trust. to be soft in a world that holds you white-knuckled. while I learned to love that trait, I understand my recent worries offer more of an opportunity to grow out of it rather than carry it with me. when I unbury the roots of my shame in knowledge and speech, I see it’s actually a concern this means I’m an imposter at the very thing I hold most precious: communicating. portraying and sharing thoughts. I worry my academic work was wasted.
what I am is curious. what I am is eager. I can accept there are so many things I don’t know. I can accept that writing and speaking can be very different talents. these could still be true, while not labeling me any less smart or capable of communicating. I can read more; ask questions. I can take my time in response. when I was younger, at amusement parks in line for the next ride, I’d feel fear like a bic lighter hovering under the white ribbon of my spine. I remember thinking, “just for right now, what if I called this excitement?” maybe I have a perfect base to start from this time. maybe I’ve never been more hungry to learn, to take a break and breathe before I speak. maybe being green is the best ground to grow from.
with love,
schuyler (sky-ler)
venmo: schuylerpeck