It was the summer before ninth grade and I was still soaring from having made the b-team cheerleading squad. B-team was a big deal in the ninth grade. It meant we got to wear our uniforms to school and decorate the football players lockers on game day. Somehow, I was voted captain of that squad. And I loved that fact for about five minutes. Until the responsibility began to sink in.
I thought being captain meant I was supposed to know everything. So when we had to come up with a dance to perform at camp that summer, instead of asking for help from one of the other cheerleaders, I made up the dance myself. I found my favorite dance re-mix version of Everybody Dance Now and worked late into the night.
People. I cannot begin to tell you how little I knew about choreographing a dance. But I was captain. And I felt responsible. I falsely believed that since I was in a role of leadership, I was automatically supposed to just know. To ask for help would mean to admit weakness, which to me at that time was nearly the worst thing imaginable. So I hid my lack of knowledge and forged ahead.
The day of practice, I taught that ridiculous dance to my squad. And they learned it, bless their dear hearts. For a short time, I thought perhaps I had pulled it off, had uncovered my savant choreographing talent. But then? Then we performed it in front of the Varisty squad, the squad that looked like it was made up of 7 pairs of identical blonde, blue-eyed, long-legged, perfect twins.
After telling me that my coolest moves were illegal in cheerleading, they did the worst possible thing they could have done in that moment. They laughed. And not the ha-ha, that-was-funny-but-let-us-help-you sort of laugh that you can join in and pretend like maybe you were kidding anyway. This was the lip-biting, pretending-to-cough, won’t-make-eye-contact, whispering sort of laugh. The kind where you get dizzy-hot and pray without words for death or a sink-hole or a disappearing cloak.
That was the last time I made up a dance on my own. It was also one of those defining moments, the kind that begins to shape you for better or worse. I had to learn to ask for help after that. I also had to learn that hiding my weakness is often worse than sharing it ever would have been, even in something as small as making up a cheerleading dance in the ninth grade.
Oh, I know that feeling… so awful, but how you’ve turned it is so right.
Steph
Why is it that saying, “I don’t know” of “I need help” makes us feel like we are failing? I supervised 8 nurses at one time in my career and it always made me feel most inadequate when one of them would come to me with a question that I didn’t have a ready answer for.
I wish I could say that I have had a defining moment, but it still bothers me to have to ask for help. Until I’m going down for the 3rd time. Shame on me.
Bee – I think ‘shame on me’ is exactly the problem…The reason I don’t ask for help is because I already feel shame for not being able to do it myself. Probably you too. No need to add to the shame you already feel for not knowing something by shaming yourself for not asking for help!
Isn’t it funny the cycles we get into of feeling badly about ourselves for all the things we do wrong or don’t do right? Why am I continually surprised when I don’t measure up? That is why I need Someone to measure up on my behalf.
Leadership asks for help, leadership doesn’t know it all but is blessed by people that know and that can help…..
Sorry you had to endure the fun of your team
This reminds me of something that my husband and I have talked a lot about in recent years, the way so many leaders refuse to acknowledge their need for help, particularly pastors. And sometimes, it’s not even the leader himself who doesn’t acknowledge it – perhaps he does, but his followers expect him to know. They are afraid of having a leader who doesn’t have an answer, who needs help to lead well. Your story is a gentle reminder of our humanity and our need for community, because no one can ever be enough in themselves. We all need one another. Thanks for being a part of my “community.”
Wow. I think I would pay money to see that dance!
I certainly know the feeling. When you grow up with everyone telling you how smart you are, how high your IQ is, and how perfect your grades are, you feel like you should know everything. And when those moments come when the knowledge just isn’t there, you panic. In those moments I have often just been mean, and that isn’t the right response either. I have had to work on that, especially with Charlie, cause he’s a safe place to admit “I don’t know.” It’s okay that my husband see my weakness. I don’t have to be perfect for him, but I certainly thought that when we were first married. It was a huge lesson.
Could this comment be any longer? Love you, Em. Give me a call.
My daughter, a cheerleader, and I just had a conversation about the girls who are responsible for choreographing their dances. I cannot even imagine how stressful that is. but to have someone laugh at you!? OMG. Thankfully you gained something positive from the experience, but having a 15 year old daughter (and being one once upon a time myself) I can imagine how you must have felt and I just want to give you a hug. (yup, I’m a dork)
Perfect post speaking to me this morning. Here I am , late blooming, as I can defer all my shortcomings to stress with teens ! Seriously, I used to feel ashamed that it was a pride and self idol thing, but I think it is just part of someone’s character , and sometimes circumstances , like being forced to grow up to fast, or feeling isolated, or afraid of rejection because of self esteem issues, it all gets muddled in there too.
Whoa.. a little deep , but I echo the sentiment of the value of this community.
Thanks Emily for your kind words btw. They are truly appreciated.
Wow-the fact that you survived the laughter of varsity cheerleaders means heaps! And the lesson you learned means even more. I agree with what Kelly said above as well–we need the community and the humility of accepting the fact we cannot do it on our own.
Love this story!
Oh, I know. That is really hard for me too. No one wants to be thought of as weak. For me it’s not weakness, but ignorance I fear. That someone will think I don’t KNOW things. I like to KNOW things.
” . . . hiding my weakness is often worse than sharing it ever would have been. . . .” Touche’, Emily.
Thank you for once again saying so eloquently just what I needed to hear. This is one of the things that keeps me coming back to Chatting at the Sky.
Ready? Okay!!
This is a great story, and so true! I have many of those defining adolescent moments, and even 15 years later, I STILL get that pit of embarrassment in my stomach when I think of some of them.
Ouch, great story and oh so relevant to all of our lives today.
Whoa. You transported me right back to the 9th grade and I nearly broke out into a cold sweat. I can’t believe you survived that ordeal and lived to tell about it.
I love your message. As always. And I didn’t learn until my 30′s that it’s not cool to hide your weaknesses. Being real and vulnerable and needy is still hard. But it’s freeing.
This makes me giggle so much. I’m not joking, you couldn’t pay me a trillion dollars to go back to that age.
Side Note: Remember when I said I was copying your black cabinets? I did, and there’s a sneak peak on my blog, and I’ll post better pics for you soon. I had to honor you somehow across the miles, hilarious bloggy friend.