I quit another moms’ group.
Everyone was perfectly pleasant there. Each time I went, lovely, stylish, cheerfully made-up women welcomed me by name and included me in their conversations. I felt frumpy, flabby, woefully plain in comparison.
Greeted by their perfection, I felt like a fraud.
Nothing those women said or did made me feel this way. Really. Everyone I talked to was nice, smiling.
I felt like I was passing for something that I’m not, and that was exhausting. It was almost like I’d been invited to sit with the cool kids at lunch, and I was just waiting for them to realize that I didn’t belong and ask me to leave.
So I left.
I quit before they could realize that I’m unlikable, broken, disheveled.
That painful truth was etched permanently onto my heart in the sixth grade by Marsha and Becky and then in the seventh grade when I ate lunch alone because not even the dorky, unpopular kids would allow me to join their lunch table.
There has got to be something seriously wrong with you if you aren’t even good enough to sit with the unpopular kids.
I’ve become hardened over the last twenty years. I’m an introvert by nature and by circumstance. Being alone doesn’t bother me, and I’d almost convinced myself a few years ago that I didn’t need friends.
But I do need friends.
Friends are a soothing balm to my wounded heart, and I cherish the friendships I have developed over the last couple of years.
I vacillated between quitting the moms’ group and not quitting.
On one hand, it was just so hard to dress up and be pretty and make small talk. On the other hand, I thought there may have been a couple of blossoms with potential to bloom into friendships.
In the end, the hard won out and I quit. I just didn’t want to find out that no one liked me.
© 2012 – 2018, Tara Ziegmont. All rights reserved.