“Omigod No Problem!” And Other Lies
In my head, I am a very strong-willed person who constantly prepares mini-speeches to express every thought and opinion — although I never share them. To the outside world I’m a nice, easygoing person who acts as though everything is always perfect. I’m happy that people think I’m nice. It’s great! But while I want to be seen as a kind and caring person, I don’t think I’m achieving it in the healthiest way.
I spent five years in therapy, and a vast majority of those sessions were spent trying to alter my passive attitude. It’s still a constant battle for me. I regularly censor myself so that I can make life easier for those around me, even if it makes things more difficult for me. I never accept help or stick up for myself or correct others. I spend months, sometimes years, thinking about the things I wanted to say but never expressed.
Situation 1:
“Do you need help?” she asked.
I was balancing on top of a plastic chair made for toddlers, which was perched atop a tiny table, also made for toddlers. Even with the added height, my fingertips barely reached the top of the bulletin board. Yes, I needed help.
I turned to look at her, slowly because any sudden movements would invite gravity to step in. She was carrying a pen and her little, leather-bound notebook. She was on her way to a meeting, and I didn’t want her to be late.
What I should have said:
“Yes! Thank you! Can you hold the chair steady? I need to finish taping this. It will only take a minute!”
What I actually said:
“Thanks, but I’ve got this!”
I didn’t have it. The mural I was taping to the wall sat lopsided for about a month before it fell on top of my head while I was in the middle of teaching circle time.
Situation 2:
I stopped at the corner and looked to see if any cars were turning. The coast was clear. I took two steps off the curb when an SUV came speeding down the street. The driver wasn’t paying attention, and she turned, nearly hitting me. I jumped back just in time and the car barely grazed my leg. She stopped, and I finished crossing the street.
“I am so sorry!” she yelled out the window. “Are you okay?”
What I should have said:
“I’m okay, but people are constantly crossing the street here, and there are two preschools in the area. You need to watch for pedestrians!”
What I actually said:
“Omigod no problem! I’m fine!”
I smiled and continued walking. I hated myself so much in that moment. Why did I smile at her? She almost ran me over! I should have been livid. I should have slammed my fist against the hood of her car. I should have said anything other than “Omigod no problem!”
Situation 3:
I look at my texts as I’m boarding the bus. There’s a message from an old friend.
“I just saw you in Porter Square! Do you live around here?”
I was on the other side of Cambridge, and I hadn’t been anywhere near Porter Square in months.
What I should have said:
“It must have been my doppelgänger. I live a couple miles away from Porter Square, so we should totally meet up some time. Miss you!”
What I actually said:
“Ahh! You should have said hi! I live a couple miles away, so I’m often running errands in the area. Miss you!”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
In “The Truth About Forever”, Sarah Dessen writes, “Shoulda, coulda, woulda. It’s so easy in the past tense.” I think about that quote all the time. Saying what I want or need seems so much easier once the moment has passed, but I don’t want to think about fixing my past moments anymore. I need to make them better as they happen. I want to accept help from my friends when I’m assembling a desk. I want to let people on the bus know when they’re stepping on my foot. I want to correct a person who calls me Kelsey instead of Chelsey. And I will. I’ve already made some progress in being assertive, and I’m going to keep working on it because I’m done censoring myself. I may be a nice person, but I’m not *that* easygoing. Nobody is.
