Facing the Class

 

I watched as my friend glided across the deck, her movements fluid and graceful. She arched her back and twirled. If only I could be that free-spirited, I thought. 

It was Labor Day, and my friend and her husband were throwing their yearly Labor Day Party. As I listened to the live band perform, I watched people chatting as they stood around with food piled on their plates. My friend moved freely between them, padding along in her bare feet, her red hair flowing in the wind. Oh! To be so free.

That scene has stayed with me. It has been in stark contrast to my own self-consciousness.

I thought my efforts to be authentic were sufficient. I didn't realize how being an empath carried so many roadblocks.

If I thought a person might be uncomfortable with what I wanted to say, I'd refrain. I didn't want to be in competition against that person's strong opinions. I didn't like fighting or arguing. 

I'm reminded of a presentation I gave in Grad school. It was our Final for a Career Development class, a presentation on our lives, how we came to be where we are now. I was terrified of revealing to my peers that I'd spent 29 years in a monastery. I couldn't tell a sensible story without including that. I tried to get my professor to relent in my case, but she was adamant. "It would be good for you," she said.

I sat with my dilemma and recognized that this was my opportunity to grow. I thought about it long and hard, gathered pictures, put together a PowerPoint presentation, and wrote a script.

I began my presentation with my back to the class, sitting on a small chair, dressed in a monk's robe with the cowl covering my head.

"Somehow, different parts of life can hold so much meaning that it is hard to revisit that time," I began. "I suppose that is true for everyone."

I continued.

"Sixteen. The age most kids get their driver's license."

"The age I entered a monastery."

"Who enters a monastery at sixteen?"

"The reasons are too complex to give here. Suffice it to say, I felt called."

I continued, going through highlights of monastic life, leaving, trying to explain what it was like.

"I went on to college...I got a job, bought a house, made friends..."

"And still, through it all, I felt as though I were watching out a window. Somehow, I just didn't fit. I couldn't seem to blend. And I couldn't figure out why."

"Sometime at night, I would lie in bed trying to figure life out. Those were times I felt lost, forgotten, and very alone."

"I kept my past a secret. I try to pretend I am like everyone else."

"But I realize, when I do this, I stay behind that window, peering out."

"It is time to step out."

Then I stood up, took the robe off, and faced the class. It was my moment of courage. 

I continued my script, sharing what I felt I'd learn in community life, how it would make me a better counselor, and how I wanted to grow and learn. The room felt electric. It was very satisfying.

That one moment of courage did not translate into multiple moments of courage. Each time I want to stand up and "face the class," I have to gather up my courage and believe this is the better way. Better than hiding. Better than pretending. 

I know I'm not alone in this struggle. I know there are others who want to feel safe to express an opinion but fear reprisals. And so I write this for them. I write this as a way of continuing to stand up and face the class.

I hope it helps you, if nothing more than to understand there are those of us who are uncomfortable speaking up, and when we do speak up, it's with a great deal of effort.

I applaud all those who have made more progress than myself. And I encourage all who, like me, are continuing to "face the class" and need encouragement. Kudos to us all.