Insecurity

Last week, my lit class read and discussed the classic short story "The Necklace" by Guy du Maupassant. Mathilde, our protagonist, believes she deserves better than the life she was born into. She strives and strives, but eventually gets in a scrape that undoes all her social climbing. It's a lovely story and students always like it. We looked closely at the passages of the story that deal with envy and insecurity. This started a thread of class discussion about whether insecurity is a female problem or universal. The students had lots of thoughts. I was genuinely curious to see what they thought. One student recalled a sociology experiment held in his class earlier in the semester. That instructor passed out surveys asking the students to rank their looks as Top 10%; Above average; Average; Below average; or Bottom 10%.

Every male in the class checked Top 10% or Above average. No female in the class marked anything higher than Average.

Hmmm.

My students picked up this idea and batted it around for a bit. Perhaps women compare themselves to other women (all the females the class nodded in agreement) and usually feel inferior to whomever or whatever makes up the other half of the equation. My students thought that males also compared themselves to other guys, but that the typical male conclusion was, I'm better than he is because I have ____________ (a better car, more muscles, thicker hair, etc.)

This is all very unscientific, but it gave me pause. How would it be to live life without constant, nagging insecurity? I can't imagine it.

Most of the time, I assume that I annoy people around me. My tried and true friends stick around, and I'm grateful for them, but I figure that most of my students, most ward members, neighbors, etc. wish that I would stop talking or chattering or driving or teaching or whatever. My friends have managed to get past the bothersome traits to my creamy nougat center. But the assumption of being non-liked is sort of my default mode.

Strangely, I'm also a confident person. But I'm confident in my competencies (I can type fast, I know how to make perfect scrambled eggs, I can play the piano, I walk fast), not in how I perceive others perceiving me. I have no trouble speaking in public, but I figure that most people listening are at least a little bit bored.

Sometimes I wonder if this is a side effect of teaching. Obviously, I really do come in contact with bored listeners. At least one student per class struggles to keep his/her eyes open. Perhaps I've become hyperaware of how others see me because to a degree, such hyperawareness helps me teach better. I can perceive flagging interest and adjust. I can move around the room or raise my voice. This is useful, to a point.

But such hyperawareness ain't so great in real life.

Tomorrow my students complete their student evaluations of me. It's not my favorite day of the semester. Who wants to be evaluated by 115 college kids? One of my students told me I should check out ratemyprofessor.com. "Oh, I don't have the stomach for that," I told him. "No, Miss Hill, look, I'll show you," he said, pulling up the screen. Next to my name were all positive comments. "You're the only teacher here with six smiley faces."

Is that better than two thumbs up? I'm not sure of the exchange rate.

Of course, the kinds of students who comment on ratemyprofessor.com are the exceptions, the kids who really liked me ... or perhaps really didn't. I'm glad such a student hasn't yet commented. And I learned something interesting this week that gave me some insight into why I have so many smiley faces.

"You're my only instructor here who knows my name," one guy told me. The rest of the class piped up in agreement. "None of my instructors call me by name but you."

That made me feel sad for them. I know that college isn't supposed to be 100% hand-holding and hugs, but still, my first two years at Ricks were, in part, glorious because of the grown-ups who cared about me. Brother Hammar, my writing teacher, said, "Erin, have you ever considered the dash? I think you have writing talent and I think you can get better." That was all I needed.

"Seriously?" I asked my students. (I know this claim of total anonymity isn't totally true. In my division, we are good about learning names, but too many students were nodding their heads for it to be just the rantings of one fellow.) How must that feel to these students ... to be off at school, in a kind of limbo between high school and Texas A&M with no one who knows them?

Whether the insecurity is the chicken or the egg, I know not, but I have an enormous appetite to please people. I want to be liked. In fact, I think I'm the exception to that old psychology trope that people would rather be understood than loved. I can deal with being misunderstood as long as ya like me! I've always considered that pleas-itis a liability in teaching and try hard to keep it in check (because as much as I want to be liked, I want to create concise writers more) but after hearing about the lonely feelings of many of my students, I see that perhaps my care and empathy for my students could also be seen as an asset. Because I know what it feels like to be lonely, I make an effort to reach out. I also hope that learning so many names every semester helps ward off dementia in the manner of avid bridge playing.

Divorce has a way of amplifying feelings of insecurity. I recognize that my insecurity is probably vibrating at a higher frequency than, say, 8 years ago. That nagging thought in the back of my mind - If so&so knew this about me, she wouldn't want to be my friend - got marched to the front of the room and was made to wear a dunce cap. Divorce says this to me, Yeah, you're right. You're not worth it. You are annoying. You do bother people.

Now, I'm trying to talk back to divorce. I'm reminding it that there are plenty of reasons things fall apart, and plenty of other folks who are suffering and groping for connection wherever they can find it. I'm reminding it, too, that I have a team. (Thanks, Team!) And I have a coach (Thanks, God). And I do know how to type pretty fast.