Being in the entertainment industry now, the “you’re too much of this” or “you’re not enough of that” never ends. Whether I’m hearing it from people with years of experience in my field or from fans, I still regularly receive suggestions about how I should change myself, everything from the way I look to the way I sound to my personality. I’m so thankful for that unsettled feeling I had during The Ambush Cook, because it’s been a great reminder that faking it feels miserable and exhausting, and authenticity, though it sometimes feels vulnerable, is freeing and powerful.
No, I will not change who I am, no matter how big a title or paycheck you offer me. No, I will not portray my life as perfect. No, I will not stop being vulnerable. No, I will not “calm down.” I will not be quiet. I will not stop being sassy or sarcastic. I will not move my hands less when I’m talking. I will not talk like “a normal person,” whatever that means. I have stopped being who I think others need me to be, and now I am just who I am.
The characteristics that attracted the most criticism have turned out to be my most powerful tools, once I learned to use them wisely. The traits that I got in trouble for as a kid are the same traits that led to my success. Now I get paid to talk too much, to be too transparent, to be too hyper, to be too much. I was sure these quirks were what was holding me back, when in reality, what held me back was desperately trying to change those genuine parts of myself, instead of trying to figure out how to turn them into my superpowers.
What if being super curious and outgoing doesn’t mean I’m desperate for attention? What if it means that life intrigues me and excites me and I want to share that excitement with others? What if being sensitive doesn’t mean I’m weak? What if it just means I feel deeply, for myself and also for others? Don’t we need more of that in this world? What if being talkative isn’t a bad thing? What if it just means that I pay attention to every detail so I can tell a great story? What if all the traits we’ve been told are negative are actually our greatest strengths?
Parenting is about raising myself as much as it is about raising my kids. I try to nurture the small voice that’s in the back of all our heads. It’s the voice that says, “You are worthy of care. You are safe. You are loved. You are unique. And you still have a hell of a lot to learn, whether you’re five or eighty-five.” What kids need and what adults need aren’t so different, and most of us need a daily reminder that who we are is enough. We all have a calling in life. It doesn’t have to be something extravagant; it doesn’t have to save the world. Your calling might not even necessarily be a part of your career, but we all have strengths and talents and passions, and when we turn up the volume on those, and turn down the volume on all the outside voices, that’s when we find true success.
My calling is to be for others what I needed when I was a young, single mother who felt scared, lost, and inadequate. And the only way I can be successful at that is to be completely authentic. In the process, hopefully I will teach my kids to be authentic as well.
Oh, and in case I forgot to mention it, there was this one time when I was standing in a parking lot, eating hot dogs with Oprah. And she liked me just the way I was. Those were good times. But these are better. Because now I finally like myself, too. Just the way I am. Authenticity. It feels like a warm, soothing bath.
Three
Falling Apart
I needed to leave my marriage, and I didn’t have a plan.
To everyone in my life this seemed like an impulsive decision after five years of marital bliss. It wasn’t impulsive. And it wasn’t marital bliss.
Not long after my first wedding anniversary, I found myself crammed into the tiny bathroom of the one-bedroom apartment just north of Boston that I was sharing with my husband while he was getting his master’s degree, closely examining a friend’s pee.
She and her husband had been trying to have a baby, but she was too nervous to take a pregnancy test. She was scared of how disappointed she would feel if the result was negative.
“So come over!” I told her. “Bring an extra test and we’ll both do it. Maybe if you have someone else waiting for results with you, it will make it less stressful. We can have a pee party!”
I knew I wasn’t pregnant.
My marriage had just started, but it was already falling apart. Things had gotten so chilly between my husband and me that we barely showed each other any affection let alone enough to make a baby.
So while I leaned against the sink and tried not to bump knees with my friend as she perched on the edge of the tub, I was all too pleased to focus my attention on her. And her pee. She was nervous and hopeful. I was nervous and hopeful for her.
“Now, listen. Even if it’s negative,” I assured her, “it could happen next month, so either way, everything is okay.” We slowly approached the tests and both focused our eyes on hers. It was positive! And then I looked at mine.
Holy crap.
It was also positive.
While my friend jumped up and down and gushed about how fun it was going to be trading maternity outfits, I was trying to figure out the best way to gently suggest she go see her doctor for a real test. Because the over-the-counter two-pack she’d bought was clearly defective.
I couldn’t be pregnant. My husband and I hadn’t been trying to get pregnant. I was still on birth control, and we’d had sex only once in the past few months. Our family of two was fracturing. We were not trying to expand it.
Hours later, I was still sitting in my tiny bathroom, this time alone and on the floor. I couldn’t take my eyes off the two little pink lines on my test. I dug the wrinkled instructions out of the garbage can and reread them, searching for proof that I had done it wrong. I peed the wrong way. I didn’t use the right angle. I peed too much. Or not enough. Is Croatian urine different from American urine? The test didn’t say “international” on the box. Had I eaten something that day that screwed up the test results?
I dialed the customer service phone number on the side of the box and waited for my turn to speak with a representative. As I listened to the same saxophone solo for the fourth time, I flipped the box around in my hands, looking for the serial number so that the representative could confirm this test was part of a bad batch the company was probably already recalling. Finally, an agent with a wholesome midwestern accent picked up. “Hi, this is Shelley, how may I direct your call?”
“Hi . . . ummm . . . I just took a pregnancy test, and ummm . . . well . . . it says I’m pregnant. But I’m not pregnant. So I might have done it wrong, but more likely, I think the test is broken. And well . . . see . . . There are women out there who’ve been trying to get pregnant for years and can’t, and if someone in that situation bought one of your broken tests and falsely thought she was pregnant, that would be devastating. So I’m just calling to let you know that some of your tests are broken. Because I’m sure you don’t want to give people false hope, you know?”