Summary

The author reflects on her teenage years, grappling with self-esteem issues after interpreting "having a great personality" as a backhanded compliment, and ultimately comes to recognize her own worth and the unnecessary nature of teenage hardships.

Abstract

The narrative recounts the author's experiences with self-perception and social interactions during her teenage years. After a seemingly positive outing with a boy named Jim, she is initially elated by his comment about her "great personality," only to later realize it was a subtle rejection. This incident, along with the laughter of Jim's friends and subsequent silent treatment, reinforced her insecurities about her appearance and desirability. Despite being well-liked by parents, the author faced repeated rejections from boys after they met her family, further diminishing her self-esteem. The article conveys the lack of support and mentorship available to teenagers dealing with such issues, and the author questions whether the hardships of adolescence are truly necessary for personal growth. Ultimately, she arrives at a place of self-acceptance, recognizing that she was never unworthy of love and attention.

Opinions

The author initially perceived the comment "great personality" as a positive remark, only to later interpret it as an insult.
The approval of parents and adult figures was mistakenly believed to be an asset in teenage social dynamics.
The author expresses skepticism about the value of enduring difficult teenage experiences, suggesting they might not be essential for developing empathy and compassion.
She reflects on the lack of guidance and support available to her as a teenager, indicating that a mentor could have made a significant difference.
The author acknowledges that despite the pain and confusion of her youth, she has emerged as a self-assured individual with a positive self-image.
There is a hint of irony in the author's recollection of her younger self, who naively took a dismissive comment as validation.
The piece implies that the journey to self-acceptance is fraught with challenges and that the lessons learned from difficult social interactions are not necessarily the only path to personal growth.

He Said I Had a Great Personality

How was that not a good thing?

Photo Credit — Heather Wilson / Wikimedia Commons

I was thrilled. After spending most of — ok, part of — a giddy afternoon with “Jim” at Chippewa Lake, our decidedly downmarket version of an amusement park, a mutual friend told me that he’d later reported that I “had a great personality”.

Keep in mind that I was born a cranky old lady with anxiety issues. I grew up certain that I was too ugly for anyone to ever love me, never realizing that nearly everyone around me was living their own version of that tormented lie. So when Jim asked if I’d like to hang out at Chip one long-ago Saturday, I was over the moon. It was one racy afternoon, let me tell you. He held my hand. On one of the rides, he casually draped his arm across my shoulder. He bought me cotton candy!

Then that bit about my “great personality” and I was walking on air.

Our mutual friend looked at me a little funny but said nothing. Later, back at school when I walked towards Jim in the hallway between classes, he was surrounded by his buddies. When they saw me, they burst into laughter and began shoving Jim around. I kept moving, wishing I could evaporate into thin air.

I don’t think Jim ever spoke to me again. I certainly never attempted to approach him having finally understood what that crack about my “great personality” really meant. It meant that I was as ugly as I thought.

Another strike against me

Parents loved me. The parents of friends and later the parents of boyfriends. I thought this was a good thing (yes, I was that clueless). I’d sit around kitchen tables, chatting away and happy to look through family photo albums, thinking this was sure to win his undying affection.

My sisters and I grew up being told repeatedly what rotten kids we were so it came as a surprise when other adults found me polite and well-behaved.

Not big assets in the eyes of teen-aged boys. Who knew?

Generally, one meeting with the family was all it took for the phone to fall silent. I knew better than to even bother trying to talk to Andrew or Davy or Mark after one of those fateful visits. And with each dumping, I grew less and less certain about my worth in the world.

Turns out I DO have a great personality!

No one was telling us that “It Gets Better” back in those dark old days. But even if they had been, I wouldn’t have believed them. No one would. Sorry, Barack Obama, hearing you tell us in measured and engaging tones about your experiences being bullied as a teen and how you prevailed is not helping.

I don’t know what would have helped. A mentor, perhaps? But the woman who reached out to me, believed in me, helped get me a job right out of high school? Yeah, I got busted stealing on that job. Some gratitude, hm?

There simply isn’t some clear, beautiful glide path that gets us through the hell of being a teenager. Some kids definitely have it easier than others, but I wonder if that’s such a good thing? How horrifying for the people who realize at their twentieth high school reunion that those were the best days of their lives.

Here’s the perfect opening for a lame list of cliches about oysters turning bits of irritating gravel into pearls. Time to haul out the Nietzsche, right?

I don’t know about all that.

I think I could have turned out to be the interesting, curious, creative woman I am without having people point at me and laugh in high school hallways. Maybe I could have shortcutted my way past a bunch of crappy relationships, but did I really need to have those (three) guys never call me again after we had sex? Were the years of misery, uncertainty, and anxiety really necessary?

Who knows?

After all these years and all my mistakes, at least I do now know I was never ugly and never undeserving of love, attention, and care. I still can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that we can’t simply clue the kids in to this basic truth. Maybe what we learn from getting kicked around by others gives us compassion and empathy we wouldn’t otherwise come to possess. I don’t know, seems like a design flaw to me, but I wasn’t consulted.

Here I am, many decades later still shaking my head at the poor, hungry kid who mistook a dismissive insult as validation.

Still, the kid turned out ok. Mostly.