When I was in third grade I got asked by my teacher to go give something — a folder maybe — to another teacher during the middle of class. I got out into the empty hallway, clutching the object of the errand to my chest, and realized I was pretty sure she said one teacher’s name but it also could have been a different teacher with a similar sounding name and neither of them were the normal classroom teachers and I thought I knew where both their classrooms were . . .
So I walked to the first classroom, the closest one and the most likely given the nature of the task, but no one was there and to be honest I didn’t even know if it was the right room. So then I walked to the next option, the art room, which seemed unlikely, and no one was there and I hovered in the doorway and didn’t call out in case someone was there because that couldn’t be right either.
And I hovered in the hallway, thinking about what to do, hating that I didn’t know, clearly taking too long, watching all the trust and responsibility I’d amassed to be chosen for this venture and die with every second I just stood there confused and quietly panicking.
I don’t remember how this story ends. I think I eventually went back and told my teacher that they weren’t there and got clarification on where to go and succeeded. What else could I have done? I know that the answer didn’t divinely descend onto the shy eight-year-old comatose in the hallway looking for one teacher or maybe a different one and terrified of someone else coming by and sussing her out.
This memory drifted into my head and I have dozens like it, plenty of them well after the innocent age of eight. The memories of having something to do and not knowing how to do it and feeling shame for long enough that by the time you do get help there’s even more shame at people’s wondering why you didn’t ask sooner. It’s a shame shitstorm we learn early and I realize I’m still slow to forgive it in myself and others.
If I was coaching my third-grade self I’d tell her to ask two things upfront to clear the whole matter up: Say that name again? It’s the office down the hall on the left, right?
And then I wouldn’t even have to remember these fifteen minutes of embarrassment that happened twenty fucking years ago.
Take this for what you will but here are the lessons I’ll pluck from it today (if I decide the universe has surfaced this memory for a reason): ask questions for understanding, ask for help early before you get too far down the wrong path, keep moving, and be kind enough to yourself to take the lesson and then let these things go.
With Love,
Natalie