I often feel like an outsider, like I don’t really belong. The story I tell myself is that everyone’s humoring me by allowing me to hang out with them. What do I bring to the table, really?
A few years ago, I hosted a series of women’s retreats with 3 other women, Debbie, Stacy, and Jennifer (not their real names). Jennifer and I had worked together a good bit, but the others were mostly acquaintances at the time.
The night before the first retreat we hung out, doing a bit of bonding and sharing. I tend to be more of a listener in these situations and this evening was no exception. I was also feeling out of my depth with what we’d be doing the next day compared to these self-assured, confident women.
As we talked about some of the hard things that were happening in our lives at the time, I offered a response to something Debbie shared.
Everyone stopped and stared. I felt uncomfortable in that silence, but a moment later, I realized what I thought was a pretty average question turned out to be profound. This was new to me– or so I thought.
Jennifer reminded me of another time I felt dismissed and not part of a conversation. What made it extra painful was that *I* had been the one who had put in all the effort to retain the client in the first place I was resentful when I felt that Jennifer waltzed in, took her seat at “the head of the table” and everyone was paying attention to her and ignoring me.
I kept my bitterness in check, refocused on the client, and tried to get a better feel for the big picture they were dealing with. I pondered. I considered. Finally, I had a thought that coincided with a moment of silence long enough for me to speak up and I blurted out what seemed like common sense to me. Once again, everyone stopped and stared at me, taking in what I’d just said as something meaningful and important.
This pattern of not feeling like I really belonged was familiar. But was it accurate?
As the four of us talked more that evening, I realized that the way I take up space is different. She thinks faster and is a “verbal processor.” I tend to gather information, let it sink in, and need to get a feel for it before I respond.
In both the team building and the retreat planning, she had contributed in *her* way and I’d contributed in mine. Neither was right or wrong, better or worse. They were simply different.
And we needed both.
Since childhood, the stories we tell ourselves about what has value or what is the *right* way to do something have lived in our bodies. Maturity means recognizing these stories served us then, but now cause problems. Taking the time and emotional effort to rewrite those stories is one way we take up space.
What story do you need to rewrite?