All my life I have felt the need to apologize for being good at certain things because my particular abilities made other people uncomfortable. Well, not everyone obviously, but some people.
I won't tell you how old I am to save you the sudden rush of discomfort that inevitably follows such an admission, either because you pity me for taking so long to get to this point or because you are older than I am and haven't arrived there yet yourself. Either way . . .
I was watching an episode of "Mad Men" recently in which the lead character, Don Draper, tells a young female employee, Peggy, who aspires to climb the ranks in the advertising world by using her talents in that arena (God forbid!) that she should never apologize for doing something well. She felt guilty for succeeding. Something clicked.
Besides, it is glaringly apparent that some people aren't bothered in the least that they might be offending others, even when they are obviously in the wrong. So why should I make myself a hostage to this practice? And anyway, the gift I have in mind is of the sort that that is actually quite helpful when I use it, and, technically, I'm depriving people of something that might help them if I don't offer it to them. So, you see, I am actually obligated to use my gifts, and how can you apologize for something that you are morally obligated to do?
My "secret" gift that I've orphaned for so long?
Being a know-it-all.
There have been so many times in my life when I have felt it impossible to tell someone something that seemed obvious to me, but which seemed to elude them. And many times when I did speak up, I was even accused of being a know-it-all. When you're very young, that can hurt. So I shut up. No, I'm not talking necessarily about family, either. In some cases, yes, but in other cases, no.
Gradually, over recent years, through painful experience, and learning to stick my neck out in little bits here and there, I have realized that my contributions are, indeed, contributions, and not simply "butting in" or "showing off." I used to cringe at the prospect of telling someone something that I thought they might need to hear for fear of being told off for it. I hate confrontation. Or at least I used to. It doesn't bother me so much anymore. Don't get me wrong, I don't run around speaking my mind any time and any place I choose. Just when and where I feel it's the right thing to do.
The fear of confrontation came, I think, from the fear that, in any given encounter, I might have to stuff my own feelings, invalidate my own opinions, and, in fact, violate my own psyche in order to accommodate the person standing or sitting before me. After all, I was strong enough to take it, and they might not be. Right?
Slowly, I've come to see such instances not so much as "CONFRONTATIONS", but as "Opportunities," which, when taken, usually leave both parties stronger for the exercise. Where I used to see "potential foes," I tend now to see "potential friends, cohorts, or allies." Of course, I've had to learn the "language" that accompanies being a know-it-all, but each time I allow myself to exercise my particular gifts, I come away calmer, more lucid, stronger, more positive. And a heck of a lot more comfortable in my own skin.
Now, when someone doesn't appreciate what I might have to offer, I can let it slide right off my back . . . most of the time, anyway. I'd be lying if I said I have become impervious to rejection. But I'm much better at handling it today than I have been on any day of the past 40+ years.
Not so long ago—even very recently, really—I would never have allowed myself to write something like this in a public space. But I have, and I don't plan to apologize for having done so today.
