So I didn’t go to Princeton, OK?

The summer before I went to college, my friend Kristi and I managed our own lawn mowing business in our home town of Billings, Montana. Basically our “job” entailed mowing lawns in the morning, and then drinking pops and sun tanning down by the river in the afternoon. I loved mowing lawns– that is, I loved it until our customers asked the dreaded question. I would wait for it, eager to get it out of the way.

“So, what college are you going to?”
“Gustavus Adolphus College in Minnesota,” I would blurt out as fast as I could, trying to get it in before Kristi could say… “Princeton.”

Kristi was, and remains, one of the most understated people I know. She would have been more comfortable just letting me talk; but that one word – Princeton – garnered all the attention. So, as she shared her impressive college plans, I would leave to begin edging the lawn. It was clear that nobody wanted to ask me about Gustavus, or at least that’s how it felt. The lack of interest in my future and where I was going to college made me feel as if I wasn’t as important as those who attended an Ivy League school.

The story of sharing my no-name college plans before one of my best friends could say “Princeton” has become one I’ve told over and over again. It morphed into something much bigger; it became a powerful invisible script about my inadequacy as a student and as a person. I subconsciously resented this feeling, and I channeled my anger and feelings of inadequacy into sarcasm whenever people didn’t remember what college I had gone to, especially if they had gone to an Ivy League school themselves.

The chip on my shoulder didn’t allow me to take in positive feedback even if people did know Gustavus. In fact, I would be utterly surprised if they had. And, if an Ivy Leaguer was in earshot, I would likely make a remark about how I didn’t go to a fancy school like some people. You don’t have to be a genius (or even an Ivy Leaguer) to figure out how that would feel to people who went to those schools. They often became targets for my aggression, designed to protect me from my doubts of my own self-worth.

Sometimes I wonder how it would have been different, that summer long ago, if people had responded by saying “Oh, I’m not as familiar with your school as I am Princeton, tell me more about it.” It may have mattered… or it may not have, because I now realize that the emotions around college triggered other moments in life where I felt like I didn’t measure up to some perceived standard.

I am the youngest of four girls and I grew up in the shadows of my sisters, who were always bigger, smarter, faster, better looking, and more gender appropriate. In 4th grade, for example, my teacher did not think I was lady like enough (which is still true depending on your definition of lady), and decided that I needed to wear a dress two times a week. Wearing a dress was in direct conflict with my sense of self, and I hated those two days of being forced into a dress and in some way acting like something I wasn’t  It came naturally to me to give into comparisons with my sisters, who were comfortable in dresses, in this way and in others. One of the happiest days from my childhood was when the school board re-districted the high schools and I learned that I would attend a school across town rather than the closer one my sisters had gone. No longer would I hear, “Oh, you are insert-sister’s-name-here, little sister.”

Something else happened to me as a result of the persistent feeling that I wasn’t enough. I learned how to be a chameleon with my feelings – holding back my thoughts and emotions and trying connect with people by reflecting their needs and by mimicking what they were feeling. Or I would overcompensate by trying to be so “good” and “perfect” in my relationships that I would dissolve my sense of self in a desperate attempt to take care of the other person so that they would love me. It was hard to hold my center around the perceptions of family, teachers, and larger society of how I “should” be. The shame of not being “correct” or “appropriate” is still something I still struggle with; it creeps insidiously around my psyche.

Thinking back on it, I now realize that I may have built up the idea that people did not ask about my college and played down those who actually did show interest. Even if people had probed me about going to Gustavus Adolphus College, and no doubt some did, I think I would have felt that they were being polite as opposed to honestly interested. In this sense, I undoubtedly helped to create and perpetuate my sense of not being “good enough” by not being a strong advocate for myself.

When I recently told the lawn mowing story to a friend, feeling quite self-congratulatory in my anger, she asked “Did you even apply to Princeton?” That question stopped in my tracks. It made me realize that though I had never felt like I was smart enough to attend an Ivy League school, I would never know if that was true because I hadn’t even tried.

Our self-perceptions are so intertwined with what we believe others think of us that it is almost impossible to partition the two. I used anger, sarcasm, and being a chameleon to protect myself from these external reflections and from my own vulnerabilities. Eventually I realized that this wasn’t sustainable and I needed to develop my own core. This meant first understanding, then trusting, my feelings and allowing others to believe in my value and self-worth even when I didn’t believe them myself.

Now, after many years of working at this, I have an easier time seeing that the people around me aren’t judging me for where I went to school or secretly criticizing me for being who I am. I can still get a little salty with Ivy League graduates sometimes, I’ll admit it, but I’m getting better. I have plenty of opportunities for practice – some of my best friends went to Princeton.

Rebecca is from Billings, MT. She blogs at My Life as a Cartoon.

Image: Portrait of Thomas Cromwell by Hans Holbein (c. 1533)