When I was six years old my mother took me to a roller-skating rink. I had never been on skates before and hated the way my feet rolled out from under me. I clung to the wall in misery as I made my way around the rink. My mother enjoyed herself in the center doing twirls and circles.
Around I went until I noticed I was the only person on the rink. What was going on? When I approached the opening, people were calling my name, yelling and laughing. Arms reached for me, hands grabbing. Terrified, I avoided them and continued on my way, vaguely aware that a man and a woman were performing in the center of the rink.
I’ll bet very few people were watching the professional skaters. Instead, they were watching this little girl clinging to the wall, going around yet again. What on earth was she doing?
Humiliated and embarrassed, I ran into the bathroom and hid
When I approached the exit a second time, hands pulled me off the rink into a crowd of laughing adults and children. Humiliated and embarrassed, the moment my mother removed the skates from me feet I ran into the bathroom and hid in a stall.
Is this experience an emblem of my life—me struggling in places I shouldn’t be, but refusing help and needing to be rescued?
We all make mistakes. The last thing we need is an audience. I hated being the center of humiliating attention where an arena of strangers laughed and pointed at me. And yet, since then I’ve made myself the center of humiliating attention time and again.
Sorry, I don’t know
When I was performing a flute concerto from memory in Orchestra Hall with my university orchestra, I lost my place and completely botched the performance. My French teacher was sitting front and center, a look of horror on his face as his grin slid into a grimace. Another time I was hired as a consultant for a state arts commission to speak about corporate sponsorship of the arts, but I didn’t know enough about it. I had to say, “Sorry, I don’t know, but I’ll get back to you,” repeatedly to a room of 300 people.
I forgive myself for the mistakes I have made. That gives me confidence.
And I’m about to do it again. With my memoir this time, where I write about all the terrifying, humiliating, and shameful things I have done in my life. Why?
Because I survived. And because it’s a good story. I didn’t get all the guidance I needed when I was little. Adults didn’t watch over me, teaching me, helping me, but I survived and learned to thrive. Learning to love myself and treat myself and others well has been my journey. I forgive myself for the mistakes I have made, and forgive others for hurting or abandoning me. That gives me confidence to stop abandoning myself. That’s a good story.
So, this time when I enter the arena I will be ready. I cannot control the outcome, but when I get published, I will be prepared to face the audience with confidence. This is my story, and I am ready to be of service, hoping it may help someone.