We are Enough.
Art, “ENOUGH”, by Vicki Donaldson Einsel
“There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.”
Most of my life, I've struggled with female relationships and how to navigate them. Often, I feel like an outsider, constantly searching for the magic key that opens the door to the tribal tent. Scanning back decades, handfuls of experiences pop up, reminding me of the difficulties in the world of sisterhood. It's a realm filled with pajama parties and secrets, girls' trips and book clubs, sororities and unwavering trust. Here, dreams and talents are not only supported but coaxed out and elevated by others. It's a place where there's safety in numbers, and the girls have your back no matter what. If you're happy, others are happy for you. If you're struggling, your chosen "sisters" are right there helping you through it. This world often eluded and disappointed me. I learned early on how to have one-on-one female friendships; the group thing was challenging for me.
When I was six, my parents purchased one of the first four newly built houses in a small rural town in Maryland. They were clustered closely together, each housing a young family with kids. At first, with ongoing construction and only lackluster sod for landscaping, it was an unappealing and dreary place. However, shortly after we moved in, while I was in our driveway, I noticed another little girl just a driveway away.
I screamed, "Hey Girl?"
The little girl shyly looked around, confused, and honestly, a bit scared. I know after retelling this story countless times, she was wondering why the hell I was yelling at her. Before she replied, I gave her no choice and loudly declared...
..."YOU are going to be my friend!"
Literally, it was the first two sentences I uttered to her.
Thus began a long and beautiful friendship that would define me. At the time, being an only child, she became my first "sister." Our differences were stark—she was a petite brunette with a quiet, calm, rational demeanor, that came with two rowdy brothers. In contrast, I was a stocky blonde who was loud, bossy, and a risk-taker. To me, our friendship was unparalleled—a perfect fusion of Yin and Yang. She served as my safe haven, allowing me to be authentically wild and unapologetically myself. I pushed her boundaries while she anchored me. We shared secrets and pains, always brutally honest with each other. My dear friend, Michele, who left this dimension too soon. She died of inflammatory breast cancer in 2010 at the age of 45. We were friends for 39 beautiful years. To say I was broken open by her death is an understatement. I lost part of myself in her death. I also found parts of myself in her death.
Behind our houses was a small lovely creek and woods that separated our property from the cow farm behind us. The cows didn’t always respect the boundaries and were known to visit us in our backyard. When I went away to college, two boys on my floor grew up outside of DC and were familiar with my town. They thought it was funny I grew up in the country, and they would leave little cow trinkets outside my door to tease me! I loved living in the country. I am blessed growing up in a tight-knit small community, branding me a country girl at heart, where everyone knows you.
Our neighborhood gang of kids roamed the woods, creek, and pond like a pack of adventurers. Little rug rats building imaginary worlds of pirate ships from gigantic fallen trees and crafted "Washington steps" out of red clay, resembling little fairy steps in the creek. We spent endless hours riding bikes or roller-skating from driveway to driveway, each one representing a vital location in our "town": Selby's, the grocery store, "Charlie's" gas station, the post office, our school, and High's convenience. In our makeshift town, everyone had a role to play. Michele's older brother became our unofficial medic, always ready to respond to any "big wheel" or bike accident that purposefully occurred every 6 minutes or so. His skills later translated into a career as a firefighter and medic, perhaps inspired by his early training treating our pretend wounds. There were enough of us to play stickball, dodgeball and soccer when we got bored of playing town. We broke many windows and got our share of bruises and sunburns hanging outside until the streetlight came on. I even endured a knockout concussion playing and skating on the ice one winter.
I also LOVED playing alone with my dolls. They were my prized possessions that I neatly lined on shelves in my violet and lemon-yellow room. I was obsessed. At 10, I still loved dressing my dolls up and taking them out for a walk, to the horror of others that thought I was too old. I didn't care. One summer afternoon, just after a rainfall, I was out pushing a doll in a toy baby carriage. Neighborhood girls were outside playing as well. I was doing my thing. My mom called me inside, so I parked my carriage in the driveway. While inside, three of the girls lifted my doll out of the carriage, threw her on the ground, and began stomping her into the mud. I caught them mid-stomping. When they saw me, they quickly dispersed. Devastated, I quickly ran inside, sobbing, trying to hide my shame from the girls. At the threshold, I bumped into my mother.
Two things you need to know. I wear my emotions on my sleeve (still do). Second, my mother is a FORCE of nature. She proudly owned and flaunted the title, "Meanest mother on the block."
Telling my mother did not make the situation any easier.
She flew out of the house to give the girls a few words.
I couldn't tell you what she said. All I remember is dying of embarrassment.
Red-hot embarrassment.
The belief "groups of girls suck" was instantly birthed. At the time, there was no "Mean Girls" movie to gain some understanding that kindness matters and I was not alone. I just internalized the idea that I had to mask my true self to fit in.
Which didn't work.
It just made me self-conscious about every microscopic little thing. I didn't feel good in my skin. I was perpetually comparing myself to the other girls and trying to mold myself to fit in and feel accepted.
That day was the last time I took my dolls for a walk.
At 13, I slowly moved up in social status, by immersing myself in sports, poms, cheerleading, and theater. Despite outward appearances, I never truly felt like I belonged.
Throughout college and for years after, I had four male roommates. Even today, my closest friend is male. I found their brutal honesty and lack of playing games suited me. I always found it easier to hang with the boys. In their company, I didn't scrutinize myself as harshly.
Over the years, particularly as an adult, I had other experiences that hardened me to this belief.
Each one seemed to confirm that I don't quite fit the "girls' girl" mold.
Is this even true?
I wonder how many others feel they don’t fit in? Are there areas this is true for you?
For those of you who were able to craft a close circle of friends easily on, or who were part of a sorority or other female-dominated coven, was it as magical as I imagine?
Did you ever feel not enough? Or find yourself trying to conform to something that didn't align with who you are?
I also wonder how many metaphorical dolls I've inadvertently stomped into the mud.
Probably more than I can comprehend. If I ever stomped on one of your dolls, I am truly sorry. I am still a work in progress, learning and growing daily.
Demanding Michele be my friend had a brilliant outcome, but was bullying her into being my friend kind?
Or Loving?
Did she even have a choice?
Did she feel comfortable or safe enough to tell me, "No way will I be friends with YOU!"?
I highly doubt it.
We are all riding around on this blue planet without a rule book. We arrive as perfect, pure, untarnished souls. Our life experiences sculpt us and our beliefs. We pick up social cues through interactions with our peers and within our families. Some of us are more sensitive than others; some care deeply about others' perceptions of us. Some of us shrink ourselves to avoid standing out too much or drawing too much attention. And some of us are empaths, intuitively sensing when others are disappointed or think less of us.
That day, I learned, to not be vastly different from the other girls. I had to stay in a middle lane, not too flashy or plain. Not too wild or nerdy. Not be too happy or too gloomy. I suppressed my true passions and made myself smaller to fit in.
Who decides what "Normal" is?
I argue, Normal, does not exist. And if it did, who wants to be exactly like everyone else? We are each vastly different creatures with different likes, dislikes, skills, experiences, and capacities for curiosity.
I know I’m far from perfect, yet I spent far too long trying to fit "perfectly" into a box, that quite frankly, I do not fit. I am not a quiet, sit back and watch kind of person. I am mostly all in, most of the time. I wear my emotions on my sleeves, feeling everything deeply and loudly. Often, I turn every experience into a spiritual lesson, which is brutal if you’re not in the mood. I am passionate and relentless at times, and it can be very annoying.
I even bully people to be my friend.
I love bright bold colors and patterns. I was always a "wanna be artist", but that seemed to "out there".
This is not an advertisement, but if you take a gamble to know me, you may be rewarded with someone who will particularly love your messy bits. Our messy stories and challenges make us interesting. It’s our scars and the struggles that elevate us.
I love collecting people and making them family.
A new friend recently told me that she didn’t like “perky people”, yet she considers me a good friend. Even perky can be annoying, but in little sprinkles, it can be charming.
We learn so much from each other. Let's celebrate and elevate our differences. Let’s embrace our messy, gritty, perfectly imperfect parts. Let’s show our vulnerabilities and admit our weaknesses. Let’s feel free to ask for help when we need it. Let's also make room for those who are suffering and hold space for them. At the same time, let's celebrate those who are thriving and succeeding, knowing that one day, we might be on either end of the spectrum.
And we will.
Let us show up unapologetically as ourselves, while showing others loving kindness and acceptance for where they are on the spectrum today.
Perhaps we would feel more connected in a world that is increasingly becoming disconnected from what truly matters - the people and things that enrich our lives. In a world that feels off-balance and divided, we need more individuals to have compassion for others, not just those in their inner circle. Compassion means recognizing someone else's pain and wanting to help relieve it. But it also involves cheering loudly and applauding others' successes, not just acknowledging their struggles.
I can now assert I no longer bully people into being my friend.
I don’t need to.
As I unleashed myself from the box I did not fit, I discovered that I do connect with other fascinating, beautiful, creative women. Even in groups. They embrace my messiness and support me fully. I held myself back by believing that groups of women were a dangerous group that would sting me for just being me.
But that's simply not the case.
Nobody wants to embrace someone who’s constantly trying to be someone she is not.
I decided I’m not playing it small anymore to make others comfortable.
Will you join me?