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A few days ago, I went to my 50th high school reunion.
(If you don’t care about my reunion, jump to the end of this blog for where it might apply to you.)
I’m still not sure why I went. I didn’t really know many people then, and I certainly don’t know them now. If it weren’t for the name tags with our graduation photos from 50 years ago, I would have been left swimming in a sea of strange faces.
This is me in high school:
I remember not fitting in 50 years ago, and truthfully, I didn’t feel like I fit in at the reunion either. I got to see and hug someone who was my first boyfriend. Though calling him a boyfriend is generous, we didn’t even hold hands. We just liked each other - young, very young. A funny story: I remember he showed up to our 11th reunion, and he was beautiful. In high school, he’d been a little awkward—he had a prominent nose and long hair, nothing that would have made you stop and think he was attractive. But after high school, he cut his hair, and suddenly, his sculpted features showed up, and he blossomed. When he walked into the room, people noticed. He was suddenly strikingly handsome. A modeling agent discovered him and has been earning money from his modeling career for fifty years. He still has a sweet heart, and he was as happy to see me as I was him.
There were only a few people that I recognized, and fewer that I have vivid memories of. Our faces were wrinkled, our hair gray or dyed, or in the men’s case, bald. Clearly, a few of the women have embraced their aging with grace, while others have fought against it with their last breath. Me - I looked absolutely nothing like my photo from fifty years back, but I am happy to report that I did walk in there, while a bit nervous, actually, but glad to be in my own, albeit oversized, body and skin.
In high school, I was a wallflower, an introvert, but because I was kind, I lived in the memory of many as kind and nice, but I maintained friendships with none of these people. I never had many friends; it was safer to quietly exist in the blur of a graduating class of almost 700 people. Of all those people, the only friendship that mattered, and that I maintained, exists today, but only as a shadow of what it once was.
Post high school, I barely made it through a year of community college. I left because I was too busy getting high to know the following steps to take. Scarcely a year later, I was becoming a mother, which cinched the new direction of my life.
Was the reunion fun? I’m sure, but I left early. I no longer stay in places where it takes effort. My self-care now allows me to go when I need to. I remembered some people, but most of them were a blur. High school itself was a blur. My life was chaotic back then—there was no space for the whole experience others seemed to have. Sure, I joined the color guard, I went to football games, and I even made out with a few boys. A few “guys” looked for me that night, they remembered liking me in grammar school - how sweet is that. I’m happy to report that I lived in the memory of most people as being kind - I can live with that.
A few other people I would’ve liked to see weren’t there. They didn’t show up. But thank God I’ve come to love myself. Thank God I’m okay with being me, in this overweight, aging body. A mother of three. A grandmother of four. Still working, while so many others from my class are retired and living lives of leisure.
Driving home, I asked myself: Why did I go? Why did I spend money and energy to be at an event with people whom I didn’t remember?
I will remember this feeling when the 60th reunion rolls around. But I’ll also not forget Ellen, who put out an extraordinary amount of effort to find people, to create connections, to help us feel seen. She made it worthwhile. She made us feel like we mattered. She made us feel like we were missed. Thank you, Ellen.
And maybe... that’s enough.
(If you skipped the story - start HERE:)
We never know what demons one is fighting - have you noticed that?
No one in my school knew that I lived in a cold, depressing apartment with alcoholic parents and a sexually abusive father. No one knew that walking through the halls, trying not to be noticed, took all my effort. Only because I had blossomed and started getting attention from the boys did this change. Their attention and flirting made me pay attention to a part of me that I wasn’t familiar with. I guess I became pretty when I wasn’t paying attention.
But I was never free; my family and household drama followed me everywhere. Because this was my experience, I have been able to cultivate a profound sense of compassion for all people, because you never know what someone is surviving.
What demons did you have to slay to survive?
What demons are you still facing?
The beauty of slaying demons is the reward of standing tall, being who you are, however you are, and moving through life with grace. My personal demons became a stepping stone to a life that I feel good about living, but climbing them and overcoming the shadows they created has been a lifetime of work.
This life is GLORIOUS.
As we embrace the years, the losses, and the wins, we garner stories and wisdom that cannot be acquired any other way. It had to come through you, and it had to come through the lessons you survived. I wasted too many years “trying to be okay”, although thank God, it did arrive, albeit on the wings of tears and some triumph.
It bothers me when I see individuals not embracing their beauty and their strengths. Your value is definite; it was born from your experiences. Please never be tempted to believe that you have nothing to offer - nothing could be further from the truth.
If you’re still young (which is relative), trust yourself.
If you’re moving through a demanding middle of your life, believe in yourself - NOW.
If you’re on the other side of your life, celebrate yourself, your years, and your wisdom.
We each have value, and only you can express it. For me, my humanness and authenticity are apparently some of my best qualities; it seems to be what individuals recognize me for. I’ll take it.
Begin your journey with Shadow Work. Click here for a link to my book.
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Thanks, Michelle, for sharing so deeply and authentically. It is always refreshing, and my heart opens even more. I remember my 50th, and it was funny. I saw my first boyfriend (the one I wanted), and it was like yesterday - nobody home, the same clicks that I didn't fit into, and the person I wanted to see didn't show up. I agree that there's always someone who makes you feel important (the organizers), but when I tried to engage, I didn't fit in again. I looked younger and in better shape than most of them, and realized after a couple of tacos, it was time to leave. Fifty years ago was a time of getting by and learning as you go... I thank God for my Badminton Coach and Grandmother, who believed in me, and a few teachers who kept the encouragement going... I think of them often and know I am better because of them, the few, but vital. Bless you, my friend! Suzette