And So My Journal Sat
Gettin' going was tough
Ellie’s Story — Chunk 3
After seeing Coach, I was motivated to dig up some old memories. Except that the more I thought about it, the more I thought I’d be picking at some scabs that were, in some way, healed.
Alfred noticed that the yellow journal just sat and sat and sat on the kitchen counter. Finally, he asked me what the deal was.
“Are you going to do as Coach suggested and start writing?”
The truth was I wasn’t sure. How would I explain this to Alfred? I didn’t want him to feel unheard or, even worse, disappointed in me. I responded to Alfred in my efficient communication mode, which went like this:
Me: Not sure. Probably. Well, most likely, but then again, maybe not.
Alfred: So you know that, in general, words confuse me, and there was nothing you said that I understood.
This made me chuckle, and then I knew I had to be clearer — for both of us.
Me: It’s like this. I’ve got some old sores, but now they’re scabs, and I’m not sure I want to pick at them. It will just make them bleed all over again.
Alfred: Mom, you’re smart, and so I know you know the problem with what you just said. They’re not healed. That’s why I said, ‘You’re good, but you could be great.’ The difference between the two, if I am going to use your words, is the scabs. They need to be looked at. Otherwise, they’ll stay being scabs, and you’ll stay being good. I don’t think you want to stay being good if great is a possibility.
Okay, he got me. I was thinking that I was now experiencing a twofer — where you get two good things from one moment. Usually, they’re linked. As I listen to Alfred, I now have the twofer of Alfred and Coach in one voice. It was kind of scary but also gratifying. Gratifying because I was the invisible hand that put the two of them together.
I set aside my fears of picking at the scabs, gave Alfred a hug, and promised I would write something tonight. I’d probably use my laptop, but I’d keep the yellow journal there as a reminder.
We were good. Well, Alfred was great. I was good. If I’m going to write, I need to be honest. Otherwise, what’s the point? Maybe I would work myself to a state of “great.”
Where would I even start? Do I begin with David? My parents? Being a single mom? Being the odd one out as a teen?
I decided to start with something that wouldn’t be too upsetting but still gave me a chance to try out writing my way through some painful moments of my past. What scab would I pick?
When I was 11, I tried out for my school’s choir. I could start there. I so badly wanted to belong to a group, and this felt like one that might fit. I had a decent voice — still do. In terms of making friends, I wouldn’t need to talk so much — only sing — and we’d be sharing a common goal, sounding good together. The choir would be a group I could be part of. It might be my beginning of a circle of friends.
I tried out and got in. Really, most kids did, but I actually had a pretty good voice. Miss Kennedy was the choir conductor, and for some reason, she liked me. The more we practiced, the more it was clear she favored me. I paid attention. I didn’t talk or distract others from paying attention. I probably looked like someone who could use extra kindness, and Miss Kennedy was happy to give it.
The problem was that the kids didn’t take to me. I still didn’t belong.
When we had our holiday concert, I was assigned two solos, and afterward, I was feeling good — even proud. My happiness, though, was short-lived. No one in the choir came up to me to say anything. No “You killed it,” or “nice job,” or “way to go.” I felt lonelier than ever. Only Miss Kennedy came up to me and congratulated me on a solo well done.
I came home and told my mom that I was going to drop out of choir.
“Why would you do that? You’re doing great. You even won some solos.”
Did I need to explain how lonely I felt and how I didn’t have one single friend to talk to?
At the time, I shrugged my shoulders and reassured her, “I just don’t feel like being part of this. I’ll do something else. Don’t worry, Mom.”
Writing those last words, “Don’t worry, Mom,” made me tear up. It could have been the tears I didn’t shed 28 years ago when my classmates paid me no mind.
But I think it was something else. I think I always felt responsible for helping my mom. She was a worrier. Her mind was cluttered with thoughts about my dad, finances, and, of course, me. I was a sullen child.
At that moment of journaling, I was wondering, “Why did I, and not my dad, feel the need to reassure my mom?”
So, my first entry in the journal picked a scab I had long forgotten. I felt pressure to help my mom cope with her world, and I was a lonely child. The choir didn’t fix a thing. It only made me realize how odd I was. I didn’t fit.
Alfred always likes to end whatever he is doing on a positive note. Coach taught him that. What’s my positive note?
I think it’s this.
At a young age, I was sensitive and could read people’s feelings. Coach has worked with Alfred to help him pick up signals. That’s probably why Alfred knocked on my door that night and mentioned he’d like me to talk to someone.
Coach calls the ability to read people’s minds “Hearing the unspoken.” I think I am good at that.
Thinking back to the choir, I was trying to find a place where I could begin building a circle. It wasn’t about singing, even though I had a fine voice. It was about finding friends.
But then, I intuited their thoughts about me. It wasn’t going to happen. Their unspoken voice was loud.
I also knew what my mom needed. She needed something in her life to go right, and I needed to stay “Miss Positive” for her.
I was a sad soul dressed up as a cheerleader.
I am going to try and end all my writing with a positive message, and this is today’s:
I was smart and intuitive from the start.
Ellie’s Story is a novel in the making. Here is the previous piece:
Ellie Meets With Coach
This is a novel in the making and will be the third book in my series on “Alfred.” Reader feedback is welcome and appreciated…or you can just read and mull over to yourself. A Sense of Belonging is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
“Hearing the unspoken" is a good expression for picking up meanings from actions rather than words.
In the past, I have spoken and written about the fact that watching animation has helped me understand the importance of body language as a communications tool, particularly when the body language conflicts with or contradicts what is being said.
Intriguing! Got me on the edge of my seat.