One of my first memories of being aware of how other people perceived me was in second grade. Our class was going to do a recording on a poem to put in some larger school project (I don't recall those details), and we all put in a good amount of time memorizing this short poem and wanting to be the one who'd record it. I remember thinking I should definitely be chosen, and was rather disappointed when I wasn't. I asked why not, and the teacher decided to show me instead of just brushing me off. She recorded me reciting the poem, and played it back... and I discovered I could not properly say the letter R - it came out as W every time.
I remember instantly going from pride at reciting the poem perfectly to chagrin that I couldn't speak properly and somehow had been utterly ignorant of the fact. I honestly had no idea - my speaking sounded exactly like everyone else's to me in my head, but the mistakes were patently, painfully obvious on the recording. Thankfully, I don't recall anyone being mean about it, but I was still aware of everyone looking at me and definitely did not like it.
I found myself going to the school's speech therapist once a week after that. I recall walking down huge (to me), empty hallways on my own, partly proud I was being trusted to find my own way there and back, and partly ashamed that I had to go do this thing that no one else did. I don't recall how long it took, but I was determined not to be held back by this, so I read sentence after sentence and poem after poem about rowdy red roosters and rolled my Rs (because hey, at least that was better than saying W) until I finally figured it out. I got some little certificate of completion from the therapist and was told I didn't have to come back the next week.
It's a minor memory, but it was the first time I realized that other people might not see me the same way I see myself. Every so often, I check in with myself and see if my actions (and others' reactions to me) match what I want to be. Sometimes that involves being okay with others thinking I'm odd - ok, often it does - but every now and then I realize something is out of whack and I need to re-examine those little habits you tend not to notice. Often enough that I'll keep doing it, just in case.
I remember instantly going from pride at reciting the poem perfectly to chagrin that I couldn't speak properly and somehow had been utterly ignorant of the fact. I honestly had no idea - my speaking sounded exactly like everyone else's to me in my head, but the mistakes were patently, painfully obvious on the recording. Thankfully, I don't recall anyone being mean about it, but I was still aware of everyone looking at me and definitely did not like it.
I found myself going to the school's speech therapist once a week after that. I recall walking down huge (to me), empty hallways on my own, partly proud I was being trusted to find my own way there and back, and partly ashamed that I had to go do this thing that no one else did. I don't recall how long it took, but I was determined not to be held back by this, so I read sentence after sentence and poem after poem about rowdy red roosters and rolled my Rs (because hey, at least that was better than saying W) until I finally figured it out. I got some little certificate of completion from the therapist and was told I didn't have to come back the next week.
It's a minor memory, but it was the first time I realized that other people might not see me the same way I see myself. Every so often, I check in with myself and see if my actions (and others' reactions to me) match what I want to be. Sometimes that involves being okay with others thinking I'm odd - ok, often it does - but every now and then I realize something is out of whack and I need to re-examine those little habits you tend not to notice. Often enough that I'll keep doing it, just in case.
