I'm a Reformed Mean Girl
Read Time: 4 Minutes
Words by Beverly Paul-Cooper
My cynicism has never served me well. Throughout my life, I was touted as two things: the mean girl or the sarcastic girl. Both labels I wore proudly. In my askew and naïve brain, one meant biting wit and the other meant superfluously funny. It wasn't until I reached my late twenties that I realized just how much this uneven perception cost me. In hindsight, the relationships I so desperately wanted to cultivate as a teenager and young adult were thwarted by my own insecurities and disdain. My only course of action was that I needed to change.
My life looked a little differently ten years ago. I was doe-eyed and careless, and I dreamt of a life with a guy who encouraged the absolute worse of my vices. Being young, it was easy for me to see things cloudy and misguided. Often times, I persuaded myself into believing that my big, wordy vocabulary and sharp tongue made me superior and was a quick test for those who I felt were either too sensitive or just didn’t get me. What arrogance I had.
In hindsight I knew, deep down, in every part of me that felt singled out or unhappy or even misunderstood, was a wound that was self-inflicted.
My story begins post quarter-life crisis and prior to dating my husband, a person whose kind and calm demeanor couldn't help but inspire in me the life I could have. In this season, I found myself alone. Sure, I had a roommate and a job, but if you have ever felt that same sense of standing in a crowded room and feeling completely blank and disconnected, well then, we have been kindred spirits.
I was moving through a time of excitement, but what felt like a season I had hoped to share with others, I would inevitably find myself writing in a small notebook to capture these moments instead. My excitement and successes were littered across thin pieces of paper instead of enthused conversation.
How did I get here? What relationships had I cultivated, if at all? The few I had built were breaking, disintegrating and fused with so many words I knew I could never take back. The truth is, at the time, I would have rather believed that I deserved every ounce of loneliness I received. I guess it was easier than believing I was a good person with a compassionate heart. I needed to trust that kind and remarkable people could come my way, and I too deserved to be amongst them.
My broken and biased view of myself in the world shifted the moment I began noticing those around me, both the hurting and the happy. I wanted so badly to share in either kind of story. I wanted to impart hope and share experiences not tainted by gloating or self-righteousness. My heart had the why, and then before I could build a big enough barrier, someone came into my life, and he, my future husband, gave me the reason.
Though I am a believer that my identity has never been found in someone else, he sure did change my world in an absolute whirlwind kind of way. I imagine he had little understanding of the impact he had on me initially. I have always presented well, self-aware and self-confident. Little did he know I was nervously vying for faith in myself and to transform my interaction with others.
I watched him quietly, constantly noting how he interacted with others and how others responded to him. He was funny without compromising or belittling others, and he was so good. The kind of good where you know he would give the last dollar in his pocket to someone who needed it, no questions asked. Being with him more than convicted me. Along with him and a few others, they didn’t just convince me of the reality that I could change but reaffirmed that I was a good person who was just plagued with a sharp tongue.
My quest for tactfulness hasn’t been an easy one, and I feel like I falter sometimes more than I affirm. The difference is that this time, I recognize it. In those moments I am both quick to correct and forgive myself. Part of me feels like the reason why it was so easy to accept that I could not evolve was because it was easier to believe that my life and personality were intrinsically designed to be filled with cynicism. Looking back, I often smirk at the grandiose sob story I laid out for myself, and perhaps more importantly, the sad and weathered relationships I assumed I would have.
My reason for actively choosing to change my mindset and my interactions with others is simple: I knew it was no way to live the life I wanted. A full life can be immersed with gratitude, sadness, sheer joy, and uncertainty. At some point I had to understand I was predestining a discontent future before plans or people ever came into my life.
Sarcasm, my forever defense mechanism, could never keep my warm, kind heart from feeling pain or only ensure that nothing but encouraging folks would ever come my way. It’s proven that when used frequently and at high levels, sarcasm will bring about a barrage of isolation and unhappiness. Years of building upon this truth has propelled me to need to do and be better.
For myself, for my family, and for anyone in need of a little hope at the end of a redemptive pipe dream, your happiness is worth changing for.
** Editor’s Note: This article first appeared in Issue 19 of Holl & Lane Magazine. **
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