Surviving or Thriving?

When I was 11, my dad got a new job. We left Siler City, North Carolina and moved to Greenville, North Carolina. 

When I was 13, my dad got a new job. We left Greenville, North Carolina and moved to Macon, Georgia. 

When I was 15, my dad got a new job. We left Macon, Georgia and moved to Woodstock, Virginia. 

When I was 17, my dad got a new job. We left Woodstock, Virginia and moved to Hope Mills, North Carolina. 

You might be thinking, “Wow, that must have been rough!” or “I wonder why they moved around so much” or even, “Yeah, my family moved a lot too–it stinks!” I can tell you it built no small amount of resentment and even animosity toward my dad, who was just doing what he knew how to do: survive (although I could hardly appreciate that at the time). In most instances, pay was better somewhere else; in at least one instance, his position was dissolved. For me, in all instances, it meant being the ‘new girl’ over and over, it meant being the new family in the neighborhood, it meant making friends I hoped I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to. 

When my dad passed away in 1992, I was 20 years old. In fact, I was in the room with him when he died, as was my mom. We watched those labored, slow breaths as The Price Is Right blinged and binged in the background. I’ll never forget that most profound moment of revelation, the likes of which I had never had: get busy living or get busy dying. He was 55. 

That’s why, only a few short months later, I moved 6 states away to Colorado, where I enrolled at Colorado State University. Is it every Eastcoast girl’s dream to grow your hair out, ditch the make-up and start prancing around barefoot in Colorado, the sweet trace of patchouli wafting in your wake? It was mine. The muscles in my legs took shape from hiking and mountain biking every chance I got. As my newly awakened “get busy living” mantra took root, I soaked up everything: new friends, love interests, books and writing, the delicious microbrews Colorado is known for, and even activism (I joined the Campus Women’s Alliance shortly after moving to Fort Collins). My friend and fellow English Major Stacey and I would often ditch our last class on Fridays and have a late lunch at a place called the Pickle Barrel, run by a couple of guys from New Jersey. It was the size of a broom closet, and they always had a line out the door. 

My mom used to say that all that moving around made me adaptable, capable of being in any sort of company as well as holding my own in different kinds of conversations. I know she reads this, so I’m not talking out of school here: Mom, you are right! And I agree–it built a certain kind of confidence. But not the kind of confidence you might think.

What do I mean by that? In short, confidence can be birthed and cultivated by many different things. I feel that the way one experiences life can be boiled down to 2 different types of “beingness”: surviving and thriving. My “confidence” was born of needing to survive. Of course, on any given day, one could stumble and bumble their way between these two poles! Nothing is black and white. 

What you know to be true, how you “hold yourself,” what credit or judgment you might give to yourself or someone else depends on if you are in a mindset of survival or thriving. Sometimes I like to call the thriving, “Thrumming,” because I like the symphonic rumble it brings to mind, like a well-oiled engine in a restored 1968 Mustang. 

Between the time we moved away from Siler City and the time we moved to Hope Mills, I constantly asked myself: Is my hair straight enough, long enough, fun enough? Is my speech hip enough?Are we rich enough?  Are my clothes cool enough? Do I have what it takes to get in the AP classes? Will they like me? Will they accept me? Will they talk shit about me? 

Unfortunately, all that self-questioning and anxiety did not go away when I went off to college. Even the emancipated 21 year-old who drove into Fort Collins in her ‘81 Toyota Celica knew that making an impression–a good one!–meant survival. 

In many ways, my situation is not unique. (Maybe all the moving around was-) But WE ALL DID SOMETHING to survive the hardships and trials of adolescence. 

Can you check any of these boxes?  How did you survive? 

• People pleaser (this can turn into a martyr complex as an adult)
• Chameleon : I’ll be whatever you want me to be! 
• Isolationist/introvert/goth-girl: You think I suck? I don’t need you anyway
• Repressed athlete in order to be a ‘pretty girl’ 
• Repressed the blossoming woman who has sexual desires in order to be the goodie-goodie
• Over-expressed the woman of desires/sexuality because, let’s face it, we women found out early that was powerful stuff
• Became the Bully…learning early that ‘power over’ was the way of the patriarchy
• Became the angry, tough girl to transmit ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe
• Over-ate, over-drank, over-did it to stuff the pain, fear, and confusion 

I know I can check a few of those boxes. 

Because this survivor mode gets activated in adolescence, it tends to stick with us. Adolescence =formative years. And we bring it into adulthood, unconsciously. 

It wasn’t until recently that I realized the people pleaser inside of me is also the survivor. For years I’ve been trying to rehabilitate her. But SHE-WHO-MUST-BE-ACCEPTED is the one who actually survived 1982-1989 (and beyond!). I have to give her a high-five because, really, she might be the reason I’m still standing. 

So, if you were looking at the above list and cringing, muttering to yourself, “Yeah, I did that, I was that, that was me,” it is a testament to your bad-ass warrior, your loyal soldier, your Team Captain. Don’t judge her/him/them. 

Annnnnd: Is it time to set down the armor, the shield, the snarl? If you need a green light, here it is.  You can take off the combat boots. You can sure as heck crawl out of those expensive Guess jeans and START TO THRIVE. You can DO FOR YOURSELF instead of somebody else. There’s actually no one to impress but YOU. 

What grooves of survivorship are still with you? 

Maybe your biggest bout of surviving didn’t happen 40 years ago, like mine did. Maybe you’re in the middle of surviving a divorce, a loss of perspective, an empty nest, an addiction. Survival can be your best friend until it’s time to part ways. 

The Fall Equinox is a “threshold crossing” –we move from the playful, loud South Direction into the more contemplative, slower West Direction. The West is the land of the adult. The West shows us to take note of the beauty of the child (and adolescent) of summer and MAKE HER OURS AGAIN by becoming the responsible adult. That means becoming responsible for our emotional reality as well as for our actions…

Perhaps it’s also time to reflect on what types of survivorship are still “locked and loaded” inside of you that don’t need to be anymore. 

What would it take to part ways with that old pal?