Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Why I Skipped My High School Reunion
The fifth article for my opinion column ("Small Action, Big Change") in The Badger.
===================
I am from a small town in North Carolina and live ten minutes away from the house in which I grew up. A week ago, my high school had a 10-year reunion for the Class of 1999. I liked much of high school and have many good memories, but… I didn’t go. It was not a decision I made overnight. Up until that evening, I was unsure of whether I wanted to go and unable to pin down the source of my apprehensions.
Maybe it was because Facebook sufficiently satiates my curiosity about most of my former classmates. I admit I love reading about amazing things people are doing with their lives, even those I didn’t know well. However, the prospect of multiple uncomfortable chitchats about how-life-is with acquaintances who wrote "Have a nice summer!" or "You and _____ were such a cute couple! Sorry it didn't work out!" in my yearbook just isn't that appealing. I have not kept in close touch with many classmates but a reunion is a less than ideal place to catch up in a meaningful way.
Maybe I didn't want to pretend to enjoy a laugh at my expense while people I have known since elementary school jokingly reminisce about how nerdy, sheltered, weird, or goody-two-shoes I was. Maybe I would rather not have to give a polite we're-both-grown-ups-now smile to the former soccer teammate who hooked up with my boyfriend at a party I wasn't allowed to attend. Maybe I didn't want to explain why my life seems five years behind where it "should" be, according to my hometown's standards. Maybe I didn't want to be asked for the eight hundred and fifty-sixth time why my boyfriend Shaun and I have not yet chosen to get married.
Maybe it was because I did not want to walk in the door and feel all over again what it's like not to belong. I dread situations in which I have to wander around in search of a place to stand or sit. I never did fit in with any one group—and I still don't—but growing up, I had always felt good about being friendly with everyone and not feeling limited to a particular “type” of friend. At social gatherings, though, I see the value in belonging, in knowing with certainty that some people would be genuinely happy to see me. Some things never change, though. I am still the odd one out at work. At staff meetings, I stand at the back of the room avoiding awkward seat-hunting. Looking back, I know I did the same thing in high school. I often went to the computer lab for lunch, averting rejection and food.
Maybe it’s because I have an immature streak and what people think of me, at times, paralyzes me with insecurity. I realize it's tradition but whoever picked the day after Thanksgiving (U.S.) for a get-together with people you haven't seen since you were teenagers must have been playing a cruel joke. Mercifully, I did not gain weight after the feast this year, thanks to a walk around the neighborhood and a 12 hour nap. That's no small miracle considering my mom's corn casserole recipe calls for an entire stick of butter! Nevertheless, at a size 6, I am still literally 50 pounds heavier than I was in 1999.
I can imagine the "Wow, she’s let herself go" whispers from the same people who used to say, "Ohmigod! You're so skinny, I hate you!" What they did not know was that my loud, bubbly, skinny teenage self was quietly succumbing to anorexia, anxiety and depression. Hospitalized twice my senior year, I barely survived, much less graduated with the Class of '99. College was then a roller coaster of emotion and crisis as I battled my self-destructiveness and my tendency towards eating disorders threw me literally 100 pounds in the other direction on the scale. It's all too long of a story to explain during small talk at a noisy pub, and a partial telling of what happened leaves me sounding like the hostess of a Pity Party for one. I know this from experience so I'll spare you for now and save the details for my memoirs.
I’ll just divulge the happy ending. After many years of hard work on my part, with loving support from my family and Shaun, I am at a secure, happy and stable place in my life. I'm not living a glamorous, adventurous or traditional life but I chose this life I am living. Maybe the wounds are still too fresh. Whatever the reason, I stayed home, ate dinner with Shaun, read a book, and went to bed on time. Five or ten years from now, I might reconsider the reunion idea. Maybe.
===================
I am from a small town in North Carolina and live ten minutes away from the house in which I grew up. A week ago, my high school had a 10-year reunion for the Class of 1999. I liked much of high school and have many good memories, but… I didn’t go. It was not a decision I made overnight. Up until that evening, I was unsure of whether I wanted to go and unable to pin down the source of my apprehensions.
Maybe it was because Facebook sufficiently satiates my curiosity about most of my former classmates. I admit I love reading about amazing things people are doing with their lives, even those I didn’t know well. However, the prospect of multiple uncomfortable chitchats about how-life-is with acquaintances who wrote "Have a nice summer!" or "You and _____ were such a cute couple! Sorry it didn't work out!" in my yearbook just isn't that appealing. I have not kept in close touch with many classmates but a reunion is a less than ideal place to catch up in a meaningful way.
Maybe I didn't want to pretend to enjoy a laugh at my expense while people I have known since elementary school jokingly reminisce about how nerdy, sheltered, weird, or goody-two-shoes I was. Maybe I would rather not have to give a polite we're-both-grown-ups-now smile to the former soccer teammate who hooked up with my boyfriend at a party I wasn't allowed to attend. Maybe I didn't want to explain why my life seems five years behind where it "should" be, according to my hometown's standards. Maybe I didn't want to be asked for the eight hundred and fifty-sixth time why my boyfriend Shaun and I have not yet chosen to get married.
Maybe it was because I did not want to walk in the door and feel all over again what it's like not to belong. I dread situations in which I have to wander around in search of a place to stand or sit. I never did fit in with any one group—and I still don't—but growing up, I had always felt good about being friendly with everyone and not feeling limited to a particular “type” of friend. At social gatherings, though, I see the value in belonging, in knowing with certainty that some people would be genuinely happy to see me. Some things never change, though. I am still the odd one out at work. At staff meetings, I stand at the back of the room avoiding awkward seat-hunting. Looking back, I know I did the same thing in high school. I often went to the computer lab for lunch, averting rejection and food.
Maybe it’s because I have an immature streak and what people think of me, at times, paralyzes me with insecurity. I realize it's tradition but whoever picked the day after Thanksgiving (U.S.) for a get-together with people you haven't seen since you were teenagers must have been playing a cruel joke. Mercifully, I did not gain weight after the feast this year, thanks to a walk around the neighborhood and a 12 hour nap. That's no small miracle considering my mom's corn casserole recipe calls for an entire stick of butter! Nevertheless, at a size 6, I am still literally 50 pounds heavier than I was in 1999.
I can imagine the "Wow, she’s let herself go" whispers from the same people who used to say, "Ohmigod! You're so skinny, I hate you!" What they did not know was that my loud, bubbly, skinny teenage self was quietly succumbing to anorexia, anxiety and depression. Hospitalized twice my senior year, I barely survived, much less graduated with the Class of '99. College was then a roller coaster of emotion and crisis as I battled my self-destructiveness and my tendency towards eating disorders threw me literally 100 pounds in the other direction on the scale. It's all too long of a story to explain during small talk at a noisy pub, and a partial telling of what happened leaves me sounding like the hostess of a Pity Party for one. I know this from experience so I'll spare you for now and save the details for my memoirs.
I’ll just divulge the happy ending. After many years of hard work on my part, with loving support from my family and Shaun, I am at a secure, happy and stable place in my life. I'm not living a glamorous, adventurous or traditional life but I chose this life I am living. Maybe the wounds are still too fresh. Whatever the reason, I stayed home, ate dinner with Shaun, read a book, and went to bed on time. Five or ten years from now, I might reconsider the reunion idea. Maybe.
Comments:
<< Home
I love you, Kelly Wakefield! Your writing captures my sentiments exactly and rings true to you. So proud of you for being yourself! :)
I didn't go to mine for many of the same reasons :) Somehow, you managed to capture this much more eloquently than my muttered "don't wanna" from last year.
I'm glad you all could identify with my writing, but also not... it's interesting how many people (publicly and privately) have expressed similar sentiments in response to this article. High school is so bittersweet.
Post a Comment
<< Home
