Odd One Out
- Jun 3, 2018
- 4 min read
I've never really experienced feeling like "the odd one out".
I'm one of the lucky ones - extroverted, chatty, adaptable. Without fail, I can walk into a room of strangers and find someone to start talking to about dogs, or insurance prices, or the versatility of rainbow sprinkles. I can't remember any time in my life that I felt as though I didn't belong, and I suppose, until now, I've really taken that for granted.
Growing up, my brother Matthew and I were pretty inseparable - being only 17 months apart in age meant that we went to the same school, the same summer camps, and were on the same teams for years. We had the same friends, went to the same birthday parties, and basically came as a cute little sibling packaged deal.
We were raised exactly the same way, under the same roof, with the same rules and values and life-lessons, often learned together. We even sorta looked alike for a while (as evidenced here, by my absolute favourite photo of all time 💙).
You might think that, growing up so close, with such identical influences and environments, we would also share personalities and characteristics, but that's really where the similarities ended for us. For a long time, Matthew was like my shadow: always right behind me on whatever adventure was up next, quietly following and observing and getting into all the same trouble. And because I was so loud and obnoxious, I don't really think anybody gave his quietness a second thought. We all knew Matthew was shy, but the extent didn't become obvious until I left for college, and my big mouth wasn't there to speak for him anymore.
As we transitioned into our "adult" years, I moved forward and Matthew stood still - he finished trade school at the top of his class, but still wasn't working months after his program ended. I was home from university for Christmas break one year and, like the motivating, tough-love sister that I thought I needed to be for him, I basically told him to hurry up and get off his butt and do something with his life*.
*I should note: I can recall approximately four times in my life that I've seen my brother cry. Like, really cry. And that night was one of those times. That night, he looked me in the eyes and told me that he felt like he should just get in his car and crash it into a wall, because that experience would be easier for him than printing out a resume and putting himself in front of someone who could judge him or reject him or put him on the spot.
I was gutted - not only because Matthew is my best friend in the entire world and my words to him had caused so much hurt and upset, but also because I couldn't relate. For the first time in our siblinghood, I felt like I couldn't help him, because I just could not understand what he was going through. I had never been uncomfortable in front of people. I craved new audiences, unplanned adventures and experiences that led me into the unknown. I had never felt out of place, awkward - meanwhile, that was often his reality. I tried to be more sensitive and understanding (I was, after all, in the middle of a social work degree...), but I still never really had a grasp of how hard it was for him, feeling like the odd one out.
Last week, I sat in a room of people I sorta-kinda know, listening to conversations about topics that I have absolutely no ability to contribute to, wishing I could melt into the couch to avoid looking like a total dud. I felt like the charming, bubbly person that I know I am was trapped inside with no way out, and instead of fighting or flighting, I felt like I was frozen. I couldn't get up and leave, I couldn't say anything relevant, I could just sit there, in all my awkwardness, and wait for it to be bedtime.
For the first time, on a small scale, I could understand where my brother was coming from.
And for whatever reason, I haven't been able to shake the "outsider" feeling all week, and it's now spilling into my imagination. It's bad enough to feel like a loser in real life, but feeling like a loser in the made-up, probably-not-even-going-to-happen scenarios in your head is even worse...
I help clients work through their anxiety every day; I know the tricks and the tips, the coping strategies and the mindfulness techniques. And all of those are really great tools to help with the feelings that come. However, practicing what I preach is no cake walk, and I'm learning for myself that there's more to it than just "getting off your butt and doing something with your life".
I don't have any answers, and I'm not writing this post because I've participated in some grand intervention that solved my problem, but I *have* recognized that it's not fun to feel like the odd one out, and even though I've been feeling lame about it all week, there are people out there who face these feelings every day.
And to those people - you are mighty strong humans, and I applaud you.
Chances are, I'll write this blog post and share it on the internet and process how I've been feeling this week and then take the next opportunity to jump into a crowd of strangers and be back to being comfortable and loud in whatever setting I'm in. OR maybe I won't. But either way, I will survive, because from what I can tell, that's just how it goes.
My brother still battles his anxiety, but he doesn't let it run his life anymore. Even though it still impacts him, with strong relationships, a busy, developing career, and some chemical interventions, he is managing it impressively well. I'm constantly surprised and proud of my little Chewbacca, and I try to never take for granted the resources that were available to help him.
If you're reading this and relating to Matthew's or my experiences, reach out and let me know - or visit https://www.anxietybc.com/resources/recommended-links/canada for some links to local resources.
Always,
Jessica*.
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