Social Shock

When a person is born, they are a unique mix of each parent. Subtle quirks begin to emerge as you grow. Hair color and eye color make you memorable and a part of the family unless your family isn’t quite “normal” per se as others.

I never quite felt in place with my family. They were of a lighter hue of skin than me. With so many differences, hair texture, skin tone, it left me wondering about my origins. These people who say they are a part of me seem so exceptionally far from me.

Alcoholism ran through our family at a rapid speed. Everyone born in it picked up a bottle, it felt like, from birth. Addictions also were prevalent and ran rampant through many generations. I found neither of these pleasing to indulge. I didn’t hide my disdain for it when others were doing it, which widened that awkwardness between all of us. I wasn’t close to anyone, not a cousin, an aunt, or uncle.

I became reclusive naturally with age. My family gathered at the many holidays and had fun telling stories and having a good time drinking, playing cards, cooking, and gossiping. I would find a spot away from the noise and stay there, reading or writing. The family would come over and ask if I was okay but would leave me with an audible “weird” coming from their mouths upon leaving. I used to take this inward and try to become more like others to soothe that jolt to my confidence.

Going through the school years, I did the same. While students were doing “normal” student activities, I often let my reclusiveness from home spill over into school. I stayed by myself in every aspect of school. I ate alone, and I studied independently. When forced to participate in any school-related activities, I did so in a hurry or disappeared. I would rather face the discipline of not being there than the sheer emotional trauma of trying to fit in.

This cycle transferred into everything I encountered. The family never gave answers when asked about why this feeling was present in the first place and that uncertainty was placed on everyone that entered my life. Life became miserable. I changed one day because the misery I was putting myself into became destructive, emotionally and physically.

I began journaling using pictures at first because writing words was quite challenging to swallow at that time. Writing made things actual and not fiction as I was so used to reading. I was writing, so the truth was in my face, not in my head where I could replace it with other things. Photography was an easier way to getting into me seeing the truth. I would study the pictures of the family at functions and get-togethers. I was able to understand why I felt a certain way from a particular family member. I then began to journal those feelings. I would create lists and compare them to see if one reason was from more than one member. These steps helped me with rebuilding my confidence. I would move towards others at functions instead of being that wallflower and watching. I engaged.

It was a massive step in the right direction, not only to feel a part of the family but a part of life. I did not have to be like others to feel whole. I needed to embrace myself and enjoy who I was and what I brought to others to fill the void I had perceived others had created in me.

Allowing our surroundings to dictate who we are isn’t anyone’s fault but our own. We spend much time worrying about what to do for others to accept us when that energy should be diverted to secure ourselves. We are all weird. It is what makes us unique. It is what makes a person chew different, or have small ears, a high-pitched voice. Weird is the new normal, and it always has been. We just have not embraced it.