A Fine Line
When you hate confrontation but are fiercely independent, life can be a tightrope walk. Believe me, I know. Navigating that fine line between gracefully accepting the words of others and being true to myself is one of the biggest challenges I've faced as I've grown into a mature adult.
When I was a kid it didn't matter so much. The adults in my life said "do this" and I did "this" unquestioningly. Authority couldn't be wrong. If someone had a foot of height on me they clearly knew what was best for me, and I obeyed their orders without a second thought. I hate to admit it, but I was always the teacher's pet--I just hope I wasn't as smarmy at the students who tried to worm their way into my affections while I was teaching.
As an adult I've learned that just because someone has an opinion, it doesn't mean they are right. I don't need to be anyone's "yes man," but how can I politely disagree? Such a concept was never modeled in my home so I have had a very hard time finding the courage to step up and say "sorry, but that doesn't work for me."
As a young woman I took the coward's way out. I'd sit in department meetings and nod and smile when a more experienced teacher declared This Shall Be Done, even when I didn't agree with her theories or methods. I was under no obligation to bow down to the pressure of the older teacher, so I'd go back to my classroom and do things my way, incorporating the ideas I believed in and throwing out the ideas that didn't suit me.
I didn't like being the meek and mild woman in the corner, counting for nothing since I stood up for nothing. I didn't like the pressure that came with trying to please everyone just so they wouldn't yell at me. I felt guilty for outwardly agreeing with opinions that inwardly made no sense. I was growing and stretching, but after years of wearing the cloak of invisibility stitched together with my agreeableness it was difficult to drop the pretense and let the real me shine through.
I realized this week that I've somehow crossed over that not-so-fine line that separates the diplomats from the self-proclaimed bitches who tell it like it is. As I was getting out of my car one day, one of those annoying magazine-selling college students knocked on the door of my apartment. I saw my husband answer the door and heard the beginning of the spiel as I wrestled the baby out of the car. We'd just been hit up by the magazine sellers less than a month ago and I was still angry that they had lied straight to my face and told me they weren't selling magazines, right before pulling out their magazine list.
Before I even got up the stairs to our foyer I started sternly asserting that we would not buy any magazines and that the boy had better get off our property. There was no waffling, no discussion, no worrying about his feelings. I made my opinion known and it felt good. Line crossed.
In this issue, our contributors and staff have shared their stories of lines they've crossed or not crossed; I hope you enjoy reading them!