THE QUIET PAIN OF BEING LEFT OUT (book chapter preview)

As my kids grow older, I see the complexity of their playground interactions rise by the day. A girl that is their friend one day, can be their enemy the next - and rise to BFF-level on day 3. They are still phone-free, but I can only imagine that the virtual world will add a whole new layer to these dynamics.

It brings me back to my own school days and how, as a sensitive girl, I struggled to find my place in the intricate social  labyrinth.

Here’s a chapter from The Art of Attunement about how I responded to these dynamics.

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The mimosa plant

In warm soil, the mimosa grows with open leaves. But when touched too often, it recoils. Its leaves fold inward, stem bowing slightly, retreating from contact  to protect what’s growing underneath.

1996. The year my colors fade.

My heart is racing, and I am standing on my pedals to bike faster. It’s Wednesday, which means that Suzy will spend the whole 30-minute bicycle ride to school spelling out every exciting detail of yesterday’s X-files episode that my parents don’t allow me to watch. Panting, I arrive at the meeting point of our 5-girl bike squad, under a viaduct. A concrete, damp space, giving us cyclists direct access to the lush forest behind it. Usually Marieke would already be there, but today I’m the first. I blame it on my X-files excitement. I lean on my bike, trying to look casual while listening to the echoing voices of the other flocks of pimply teenagers that gather here. I see the minutes pass on my watch, that I check obsessively every minute.

It’s 8:10 already and a knot forms in my stomach. Where are my bike ride buddies? If I don’t leave now, I will be late for my geography class, and I’m too much of a good girl to let that happen. I hop on my bike, and pass through the forest, the fields and then the small city where my school is alone. The pinnacle of humiliation for a 12-year-old.

As I hastily lock my bike in the dark bike shed, I see my bike crew casually chatting near the school entrance, their backpacks in the middle of the circle they form. “Where were you?” I ask them, rolling my eyes. “Oh, we decided on another meeting spot, must have forgotten to tell you,” Johanna says smugly. There’s a cold pit in my stomach as I nod quietly.

In the months that follow, there will be many changes that they forget to update me on.

One day, no one shows up at our usual lunch spot near the biology section. I eat my sandwich in silence, hardly able to swallow the dry bread.

Another day, no one waits for me after class.  I find myself walking next to a random group of girls to the next classroom, pretending to belong to them.

The diaries of my friends, that we used to write long letters in during boring lectures, no longer find their way to my table. I stick to doodling in my own diary.

On the outside, I am still a model student. My grades are stellar. But in the note section of my report cards, the comments change.

“Bright student, but very quiet.”

“We’d like to see more of you.”

“I would appreciate hearing your answers to my questions in class. I am sure you’d have something interesting to share with your peers.”

Instead of the flashy 90s outfits I used to love, I start wearing grey and brown a lot.

I slowly fade.

My parents wonder where the creative, outgoing Arjanna has gone. Why did I not sign up for the school play at the end of the year? Why do I skip the extracurricular storytelling classes, when I wrote over 5 notebooks with stories just the year before?

They decide to send me to a different school for the next school year.

I detest them for it. I’d rather cling on to the grey mouse version of me than expose my bag of insecurities and suppressed emotions to a whole new group of hormonal teenagers.

I ignore them.

I tell them all the reasons why my current school is better.

I yell (I never yell).

But there’s a part of me that knows that grey and brown aren’t my colors. I catch up on a year’s worth of Latin during our summer break in Norway, alternating between studying accusativus and dativus and swimming in pristine lakes. I pass the Latin test, with ‘only’ a 7 out of 10 score. Maybe no longer having outstanding grades allows me to stand out in other ways. A shimmer of curiosity grows as I wait for the new school year to start.

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That was sneak preview #6

I am so curious to hear from you! How did this story resonate with you? How do you know that you are in attunement, or not? I’d love to hear from you.

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