Everyone won't like you – and that's not a bad thing
Author: Wickham Boyle
Perhaps it was just being the oldest child of an alcoholic father and a suicidal mother. Or my dyslexic brain that seems to reverse and skew things, giving even simple information a remarkably weird twist. But whatever it was: nature, nurture, or lack of it,I grew into a woman who was hell-bent on pleasing people. Most especially I wanted to win over and please those who disliked me or who were unfriendly to me.
I would attempt to befriend the rabid dog, the unrideable horse, the bitchy debutante, the narcissistic man. I dated those too-handsome unavailable guys, their brothers, or my married boss. I had to be the good sport. I felt that I had to be easily accessible to others because at my root I didn’t believe I had any real value other than my endless ability to put out, move furniture, clear the table, clean up messes, do anything. I tried to win over people who did not like me or my style (too raucous, overly exuberant, wisecracking, occasionally false) or those who already had enough friends.
I had to be the most popular class mother, new worker, or gym partner. If I didn’t win the whole world over as active members of my fan club, I was a loser.
This was the all-too-sad truth until, miraculously, I got older. I had weathered a scandal, left an abusive relationship, won child-custody battles, lost jobs, gained weight, found true love, and started on a journey toward elevating my children and myself to a better plain.
One of the truths I needed to embrace was explained to me, in no uncertain terms, by my friend Abigail one day over the phone, 'Everyone won’t like you. You need to throw out some of the ideas you have. Your ‘ex’ is never going to say a kind word to you. The same goes for your brother and maybe some of your neighbours. If people behave as if they don’t like you, back up! Do not keep going full-force, delivering muffin baskets to serial killers.'
Okay, Abigail, I think I hear you.
Yet there are still times when I catch myself sucking up to the rude neighbor, the woman who dismisses my every salutation unless she wants help finding a parking space. I watch my mind do little gymnastic flips as it considers placing a phone call to my ex to offer a tidbit about the children’s success. Then I remember the painful rebukes that only recently spewed from his mouth.
Banish the negative, I tell myself. Don’t move toward the enemy. When I see someone on the street who has clearly relayed that he or she is not among my fan base, I now stop myself from hollering a big cheery hello. The deflating lack of response used to send me into a tizzy of sadness. No more of that, thank you. I yearn to have the calm self-worth that allows me to say: 'Margaret doesn’t like me and I am fine with that.' Instead, too often there is a fantasy scenario of how I save poor Maggie from a fire, carrying her children to safety, with Wicki embraced and lauded at day’s end amidst torrents of tears and thanks.
I need to get on with life, recognizing that I have made some egregious mistakes. I have been an occasional bitch, betrayed people and lied. I did it.
What I need (what we all need) is some suck-it-up honesty. Yes, I did wrong, I made rotten choices, but I have decided to flip the script and take the high road; I may still have more than half my life left. As my father-in-law used to say, “Nothing beats a failure like a try.� And so I try. Now that I’m all grown up, I’ve decided to enjoy the sensation of being accepted for who I am, warts, scars, big heart, humor, and all; in-fact, all that I am.
Perhaps it was just being the oldest child of an alcoholic father and a suicidal mother. Or my dyslexic brain that seems to reverse and skew things, giving even simple information a remarkably weird twist. But whatever it was: nature, nurture, or lack of it,I grew into a woman who was hell-bent on pleasing people. Most especially I wanted to win over and please those who disliked me or who were unfriendly to me.
