The Sentence That Ruined My Life

Around The Corner

I’m a child of the 70s and back then, there was a popular maxim, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” It was meant to let children know that words can’t hurt you. It was dead wrong. Words hurt. They hurt a lot.

It was dead wrong on a couple of counts. First, words hurt. Second, what if the words that hurt don’t come from the schoolyard bully? What if they come from someone closer? What if they come from your own mother?

Before I get into the meat of this story, I must take a moment to acknowledge Diana C. at Know Thyself, Heal Thyself (Ravyne Hawke, jules, Spyder, George Blue Kelly) for the prompt that inspired this post. Check it out here:

The prompt that struck a chord in me was “write about what it’s like to find yourself within the invisible confines of sentences.”

Well, I only need one sentence. It’s short. It’s sweet. It sounds beautifully humble on its face. And it ruined my life for over 40 years. There’s always someone better.

My mother was a complicated woman. She wasn’t all bad. She wasn’t all good. She wasn’t mentally well, but as a child, I didn’t know that. She was a deeply religious woman and wished to raise her children, particularly her daughter, with due modesty and humility. So she tried.

I was a pretty good kid. I was cute. Or at least that’s what I was told. You be the judge.

As I got older, I found I excelled in many areas. I was top of my class at school. I was a track and gymnastics champion. I wasn’t the prettiest girl in school, but I wasn’t hideous either. Yet, I was never good enough.

All the trophies, all the ribbons, the awards, the accolades and kinds words ran from me like water off the back of a duck.

Why? Because no matter the achievement, no matter the praise, my mother reminded me, “don’t go thinking you’re something; always remember that as beautiful, fast, good, smart, whatever, you are, there’s someone better around the corner.”

I didn’t know who was around that corner, but I remember being terrified of her. I spent my entire life worried about her. Waiting for her. I spent over 40 years hating myself, feeling unworthy, unloveable, twisting myself into knots to try to be good enough, just hoping “she” didn’t come along and expose my inadequacies. This around the corner bitch haunted me every day of my life.

I entered into and accepted relationships that were no good for me. Well, they were downright abusive. I worked myself into a frenzy to be everything to everybody, desperate to buy my way into worthiness, to do enough, to endure enough so that I could be accepted.

I prided myself on taking crap. If I proved my love, if I proved my devotion, I could be as good as that girl around the corner. I could be accepted. If I worked 18 hours when others worked 8, I could show I was good enough, smart enough.

I’d trudge out in a snowstorm to buy my boyfriend ketchup chips. Why not? My comfort didn’t matter. I’d work 3 jobs while my ex stayed home, KD noodles in his chest hair as he watched The Simpsons. I went without Christmas presents for 12 years so my kids and ex could have everything they wanted because that was the price of admission.

Eventually, someone would see me bleed. Someone would see my exhaustion. They’d see my tears, and they’d care. They’d love me. They’d care for me, right? They’d see my worth; they’d let me in. They’d let me stay.

Yeah. No. They didn’t. When there was nothing left in me to give, everyone was gone. And I was left still looking for that better person hanging around behind that damn corner.

Then I met my husband. I was broken. I was scared. I was nothing. Yet he loved me. He wanted me. He took my hand and walked me around that corner. I was 43.

You know who was there? Around that corner? Noone. There was literally no one. This “someone better” was a fiction created by my mother in a misguided attempt to instil humility into a little girl that was a pretty great kid.

It was the first time I remember ever feeling valued for just being me. It was the first time I was enough. I didn’t really trust it. I tested it. I tested it over and over, and sometimes, I was a bit of a jerk about it.

I pushed boundaries. I threw fits. I sulked. He never wavered. He never budged. I was worthy just for being me.

As time passed, my fear of the girl around the corner faded and I stopped looking for her.

I’ll never know what I may have become without that fear. But I know who I am now.

It took over 4 decades to let go of the sentence that ruined my life. And whether she meant any harm or not, my mother’s words don’t get another second from me now. What she failed to realize in her effort to keep me from having a big head is that she destroyed any sense of self-esteem I had. We all need to know that we’re perfectly imperfect and just fine exactly as we are. I just wish I’d known that sooner.

What sentence has placed invisible confines around you? KL Simmons, Jimmy Misner Jr., Leonora Watkins, Carl Parker, I’m looking at you, but I invite anyone to participate.