When I was eleven

I learned I was not good enough

I started my period when I was eleven years old.

It was a pivotal year, eleven.

It began that year, a series of moments that taught me I was not good enough, there was something about me that was inherently flawed, that if I allowed others to see who I truly was, I would be rejected and bullied.

I learned to hate myself that year and I learned to hide.

If you had asked me then what my life would be like now, I would have told you a lot of things that did not, in fact, come to pass.

One thing I surely would have believed is that by the time I was an old, old lady of 54, I would no longer be guided or wounded by the opinions of others. I would be freely living life as myself, out in the sunlight, being me with no concern of how I was being perceived or received.

It surprises me that I still find it in my energy, in my heart, the shame and guilt of feeling that I am a disappointment, that I shock and surprise people who think they know who I am then find out I am not that. It surprises me that after decades of inner work, I still find the wounded place in me that believes I am not good enough.

I’ve been visiting with my eleven year old self lately, not because I can bring any sort of healing to her, but to invite her to share her wisdom with me.

We’ve been sitting down with cups of fresh mint tea. We stir in magic, intention, love.

At first, she was reticent to talk to me. Who could blame her for not trusting me, for taking her time? But slowly she has warmed up to the conversation.

I am surprised that I find her delightful. Her hair is untamed, she has a large gap between her two front teeth, her skin is tan from hours in the sun.

When I look into her eyes, I see the whole night sky.

I asked her to take me to her favorite places and she showed me the thicket of cedar trees up the hill from her house where the ground beneath her feet is fragrant and hushed. She took me over a wooden fence to a grapevine swing. We roller skated on her carport with the transistor radio playing. We went to the back of Spencer’s Gifts in the mall where we shopped for lipgloss in little metal tins and horoscope scrolls and velveteen blacklight posters.

I haven’t had the nerve yet to ask her what she hopes to do with her life.

Right now, I’m just sitting in her presence, loving her, and letting her lead and listening to her voice.

And I can tell you, there’s nothing inherently wrong with her.