Several jobs ago, I signed up for a mentorship program and was assigned a mentor based on what I assume to be very little. She was perfectly nice and smart, but wasn’t even from my organization. She headed up HR for a different company within our shared larger umbrella media company. Though we’d never met before, she offered me a personality assessment to be taken before our first meeting. The only thing I remember about the results, and from the entire mentorship, is that of all the character traits that were examined in this self-assessment, I scored the lowest “humility.”
I was shocked, but not surprised, and a bit embarrassed for this to ring so true.
I’ve always joked that I don’t have a future in comedy because I like myself too much. Some special sauce of upbringing, environment, education, and sheer disposition has left me with a case of overconfidence. Based on the fact that my three year-old doesn’t pause before saying “yes,” to every question that starts with, “Do you know?” I believe he might be afflicted too (so far).
Don’t get me wrong, knowing you’re valuable and likable is generally an asset. It typically leads to being happier, and having an overall increased satisfaction with life. In fact, my colleague just shared a study in her newsletter that revealed that happiness doesn’t just correlate with professional success, but may actually precede it––proving that positive affect influences workplace outcomes for the better.
Funny enough, you’re not allowed to really talk about it. I am the only self-admitted non-people pleaser I know. Case in point, I haven’t spoken to a cousin in five years because I refused to let him bring his daughter to our wedding a week before the big day––a year after we kindly said “No kids please, but happy to help make child care arrangements.”
Are you eye-rolling me yet?
Ironically, even though self confidence attracts others, acknowledgement of the self confidence is usually off putting. Context matters, of course. (And, let’s be honest, gender). It’s a trait more often than not admired in the workplace, and rejected in areas like motherhood. Everyone wants a boss who knows what they’re talking about, but no one wants to listen to a mom who has her shit together and knows it––not even me, and I am genuinely rooting for all the moms––because we’re all struggling. A mom who looks like she is doing it all perfectly is a lie.
I don’t care how organized or rich you are, nothing can knock you down from a pedestal like parenting. Having children buys you at least ten new opportunities a day to royally fuck up. No matter the depth of your resources, nothing can help you avoid the banana peels being thrown in your path on a near constant basis. Did it ever occur to you that accidentally locking the cat in your child’s closet and not realizing it for twenty minutes will ruin a nap and throw off an entire day’s schedule? IT CAN. True story.
You can be at the top of your game in many aspects of life, but never parenting. It’s a nirvana you try to reach and forever fail. It’s not possible to be a perfect parent because no matter how much better you get at it, your child is always one step ahead with their growth. And, what you really can’t account for is your own evolution––two variables in a poorly designed experiment. Ultimately, it’s the ongoing search for excellence that is the real mastery to be achieved––not perfection itself.
Three years ago, I was brought to my knees by having a child. My independence, one of my core values, almost completely severed. I didn’t think it would be possible to be so challenged––during a pandemic no less! It took about two years to feel like I was getting the hang of things, only to find myself pregnant with another child––humbled yet again, and even more deeply so. A second pregnancy is not cute. There is no time for rest, let along the pregnancy itself. It’s burdensome, uncomfortable and anti-climatic in some ways.
I’ve made no secret of the fact that the first six months of adjusting to life with two children was rigorous for me. I was exceptionally sleep deprived and spread thin with a second baby who did not sleep and a freelance career without a maternity leave. The smallest tasks became feats of strength, and my already shortened leash became a muzzle. It’s a good thing I love my house, because I hardly ever leave it.
As my daughter grew older, slept more, and we all found more of a groove as a family of four, a fog lifted. I started to feel a little bit more like me––whoever that is now. I even went out to dinner with friends and didn’t fall asleep in my food. And then, I started graduate school.
Honestly, I don’t know the last time I’ve felt such intense imposter syndrome than sitting in this lecture room once a week. I diligently do my reading, take notes, and labor over one page writing assignments in between all my other responsibilities. I feel prepared and confident entering class, and become completely despondent by the end of the three hour session. I spend the next half hour driving home, recovering from being around people for several hours in a row, feeling confused by the material I thought I understood, and defeated that I’m not as well read or academically literate as my classmates. I must sound so dumb, I think.
It’s been fifteen years since I was last in a classroom that was for something other than improv or storytelling, and most of my classmates are either recent undergrads or Ph.D students. I feel totally out of my league most of the time. Sure, I know, cut myself some slack. I was accepted into this program, just like everyone else; I deserve to be there. It’s only been a few weeks, and I’ll soon acclimate and find confidence eventually. But, it’s going to be a while, I can tell.
It doesn’t help that I’m completing this program at my own glacial pace to accommodate full time work, and always-on family life. I constantly feel behind and at a disadvantage that I’m not in the same foundational classes as my peers, even though everyone assures me it doesn’t matter. Part of me wishes I had realized and acted upon this pursuit sooner, when I was younger and didn’t have to do my reading with children on top of me. But I know it would be impossible without the experiences that led me to this point. Fifteen years of mentorship, bad bosses, promotions, negotiations, teamwork, corporate culture, and entrprenuership, and so much more have brought me here in this moment.
Intellectually, I understand all this, but emotionally I feel like I’m scrambling. I’m not the first person to attempt this juggling act and plenty of people do what I’m doing, the way I’m doing it, but it doesn’t make the experience any less humbling.
It’s good for me. All of it. Humility shouldn’t be at the bottom of your personality assessment. If it is, there’s something wrong. I think ultimately, I knew that, which is why I had children, and sought a new intellectual and professional mountain to climb after reaching a peak in my career. Being at the top of your game only feels like a win for so long. When skills exceed their demands you get bored, and bored people aren’t very happy.
That’s the beauty of parenthood, isn’t it? Your skills are never quite sharp enough for the next demand, giving you a new challenge to overcome over and over again (until you die?) Small kids, small problems. Big kids, big problems. Or so I’ve been told. Though I must say, the small problems still seem pretty monumental from my current vantage point.
When people talk about the joys of parenting, yes they mean baby giggles, witnessing milestones, delighting in the repeated mispronunciation of “poconut,” sharing the magic of your favorite Disney movie for the first time, and so on. But, those are fleeting emotional highs. The true, sustained happiness in parenting is that, though it’s often mind-numbingly tedious, it will never, ever be boring.
When people (including myself) lament about that never-ending to-do list or the relentless responsibilities that feel like they will literally break your back, it’s impossible to grasp that it’s the part that you’ll remember and savor the most––because in the moment all you want to do is forget it’s happening. But, I don’t mean you’ll remember them in a slideshow, Beach Boys soundtrack montage kind of way, but rather how those experiences physically and emotionally changed you for the better. One day you’ll just feel different, and remember why and how all those hard moments helped you arrive to this new place.
So, when I tell people how much I’ve intentionally piled onto my plate, and they incredulously ask why I would do such a thing, it’s because I want to be happy. Since starting school, I am so much happier and relaxed, even when I’m stressed out about finishing a take-home midterm before the baby’s nap is over. It’s one of the few things in my life that is is purely for my own benefit right now, and I don’t take that for granted.
I’m growing and being challenged, both intellectually and in my ability to balance commitments. It’s hard but feels good. Maybe this is how some people feel about physical training––painfully ripping your muscles apart, just so they can grow back bigger. After three years of feeling impossibly small, I’m starting to feel big again and a major part of it was, ironically, reducing myself with a fat double dose of humility.
I would love to take that test again. I bet “humility” ranks at least third to last now.
A little humility goes a long way
I am going to put two quotes in here that I loved:
I don’t care how organized or rich you are, nothing can knock you down from a pedestal like parenting. Having children buys you at least ten new opportunities a day to royally fuck up.
That’s the beauty of parenthood, isn’t it? Your skills are never quite sharp enough for the next demand, giving you a new challenge to overcome over and over again (until you die?) Small kids, small problems. Big kids, big problems. Or so I’ve been told. Though I must say, the small problems still seem pretty monumental from my current vantage point.
Thanks for the link boo
Probing deep, are we? BUt I'm glad you answered the question, "Why are you adding Grad School on top of everything else. Hope you get a chance to do some yogic breathing.