Letter 135: Under the Surface
When we reframe for a better perspective
We’ve gone back and forth this week about whether we needed to address the elephant in the room. We are not experts in politics, polling, nor policy and we are not sure that we could add anything to the discussion that you have not already thought about, heard, read and discussed with your people. Everything is realigning in ways we don’t understand, but we will stay hopeful and keep moving forward. To that end, we decided to continue with our normal “schedule of events” in the hope that we can once again find comfort and hope in our shared experiences. — Molly, Anita & Kate
I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting Lauren in person, but I have eaten my body weight in cookies from her bakery Sweet LaLa’s in Memphis. In today’s letter, Lauren explores her insecurities, and encourages us to do the same, in order to see where they came from and how acknowledging them can help us find more love and compassion for our younger - and older -selves. — Anita
It’s not easy growing up and growing into ourselves. We go through stages, like rites of passages, except no one tells us how rough they will be: birthmarks, baby fat and braces. We don’t know how to brace ourselves for the fact our body shape alone will morph nearly 20 times as we grow. The awkward years of pimples and periods will happen whether we are ready or not. Our skin will stretch with age, but we will feel trapped by the thin layer it exposes. These are just the surface struggles. Underneath the skin, many of us wrestle with a deeper set of changes, marked by words or conversations; thoughts we hold onto but do not speak aloud. We have a buried self we need to revive, maybe even remember and face with a newfound tenderness.
We have a buried self we need to revive, maybe even remember and face with a newfound tenderness.
I’m not sure where in the time portal you go with your thoughts, but for me, I land on my fourth grade self. I have this one picture taken so long ago. I’m a lumpy, modest, trusting, hopeful wide-eyed girl expecting the best out of the world. (maybe photo here) As much as I love that little girl now, I feel desperately naïve when I see her or when something triggers inside me to face her. When I think of her, I feel too soft in my responses, too indulgent in my food choices, and too average to have big dreams. I see the bulges of the purple one-piece bathing suit, shaping a version of me and I don’t love her well. So many years ago, yet she sits right here with me as a write.
We live with many versions of ourselves and can spend a lot of energy remembering or forgetting the pieces that make us up. A lot takes place in relationships to strip us of our confidence as we grow. We make everything relative to what’s around us. All too often this makes our own hard stuff feel less. We learn to turn on ourselves. The voices inside of us drown out the truth of who we are or what we experience. And yet, I see how my parents, absent as they may have been because they were tackling the lives they were meant to own, stitched their truths in the collar of my clothing, hoping I would one day take notice. Love. Love is the ultimate binder, the glue, the healer, the Creator, the reason I’m here.
It’s important to name your insecurities and face them with a new lens. With age and experience, we can remind ourselves we are all just navigating this giant space we call life with very few instructions. I’ve taken some time to script a few of my insecurities in an effort to give new perspective to some things I’ve let hold me back:
Numbers dyslexia. I am confused by the order of numbers. I mentally shut down when helping my kids with any type of math homework. Counting backwards, multiplying or understanding fractions humbles me such that I don’t even want to say where my college degree is from. I’m frozen by a skill set I don’t care enough to understand. The percentage of truth this matters in defining me is zero, but it lives big in my brain and makes me feel less than. It should not. We all have our strengths and numbers are not mine.
Atlas. My nickname from my husband because I’m always up against a version of “Where’s Waldo” to make sense of the countries versus continents or even just the location of the 50 states we travel. I failed our family game to list even half of the states in order of where they belong. I’m not smarter than a fifth grader but I am allowed to vote and run a company. It’s kind of boss now that I think about it.
Body Wave. I wasn’t allowed to get a perm, but I did beg for the body wave. Let’s just say the picture I cut out of Teen Magazine to bring to the salon did not match the awkward girl I became after that visit. Changing the exterior never fixes what is going on with the interior.
Doormat. In a screaming match with my sister, she called me a doormat. It was true then and it’s true now. Yes, I let a lot of people walk over me, but I keep my heart open. There was and still is wear and tear on the space I hold for many, but I consider it to be a welcome mat where you can cross the threshold of friendship and just be yourself too.
Big Boned. I’ve always been conscientious about my size (although it seems ridiculous now) and yes, my dad comforted me by saying I was just big boned. This one stuck within me a long time. Of course he meant no harm at all, but I believe his words ultimately helped me. I have big ideas and big efforts and if I needed to have big bones to accomplish all I have so far, so be it.
Scars. I flipped over the handlebars of my bike and ate gravel in a friend’s neighborhood, leaving a scar in the middle of my upper lip. I hated it because it marked me and occasionally people comment on it. When I took time to think about this, almost every scar I’ve had has been created doing something I love. It’s important to take risks, even knowing the scars that can come with it, because we were meant to reach our potential.
Despite having age lines, brown spots, wrinkles and surfacing gray hairs, I can still find this little girl inside and I now want to be kinder to her. She was naïve and open to a world full of opportunity, and she was supposed to be. I can meet myself again with more grace and laughter and see the little girl grow up to learn to love herself better, even when the world let her down, because she is worth it.
Footnote: I have no idea how to tackle some things I’ve encountered but I do think I’m worth exploring. You are too. The moments you froze or stayed silent or beat yourself up, they did not define who you had to become. You are still inside and able to unlock all of your potential. Use your scars to your advantage. Your thin skin reveals the toughest part of you…that you can grow up and grow into your true self.
Lauren’s 5 Favorite Things:
Favorite Phrase: I’m a big girl and I can do hard things.
The book I’m reading right now is Hello Beautiful by Ann Napolitano. The way she captures the emotions and connections between people is a powerful reason I cannot put it down.
My favorite moisturizer is Le Crème Glow Moisturizer. It is a little like slathering honey butter over your face. It makes my skin feel drenched in just the right way.
This is an absolute splurge but my favorite scent is Memo French Leather Perfume. I bought it shopping with my cousin and reminds me of our happy times together.
Star gazing is my favorite activity because it is magical and makes me realize just how big our world is and how much more I have yet to learn.
In gratitude,
Lauren Young
P.S. Check out Lauren’s first letter for TLC (123) where she writes about her bakery with a purpose, Sweet LaLa’s. And here is April (73) writing about uncovering her operating system and learning to produce her own life.
The challenging and deeply important work of looking at the little versions of us and holding space for them, and their fears, and their dreams...my time portal brings me to 4th grade and 7th grade, for various memories. I think my 4th grade self would think the you then and the you today are pretty great.