I don’t think I’d have gotten this far in life without having a sense of humor about myself (and a selection of Tensor bandages and thousands of pots of coffee.)
When you’re prone to nerdish enthusiasms, intense klutziness, exuberant feelings about random things, and just enough social awkwardness to occasionally stun people into silence, you have to be fine with being the brunt of jokes… and more importantly, being the brunt of your own.
Here’s a quick list of talking points:
Doesn’t wear shoes/socks
Arms so short she can’t reach her hands
Overthinker
Verbal processor
Talks at the television (see above)
Reads the ends of books and plot spoilers
Doesn’t like talking on the phone
Lazy eye on the verge of narcolepsy
Potentially manic about Christmas
Built like snowperson
Never without handbag the size of an adolescent lamb
Is from Canada and says “aboot”
Is prone to self-injure in public
Cooks dinner until oddly late hours
Is snobby about groceries
Can’t drive
Prone to cry at commercials
Takes “from above” self-photos as though she were a Yeti and needed to be captured on film to prove her existence
… and really, there are many more. But I openly acknowledge these facets of the jewel I am. Huzzah!
If you want to watch me turn into a total spaz, however, get mad at me. Better yet, get mad and walk away. I’m not good at dealing with that.
Not in the sense that I need everyone to love me (I might, I might), but in the sense that I panic if I think I’ve offended someone and they’re not responding to me, or if they get overtly chilly in my direction, or they ramble passive aggressively about something that sounds like something I might have done. I rush in to try and make everything okay, or justify myself in some loopy way, or fuss about how I can compensate for whatever I did. Usually this pattern plays out in one of three ways:
1. They didn’t actually have a problem with me, and now I’m a lunatic
2. They did have a problem with me and I’M NOT MAKING IT BETTER
3. Silence
And silence upon silence? Chilly upon chilly? Well, nothing can go well from there. Nature abhors a vacuum, and Meg abhors unresolved tension.
I hate it, even if I’ve done something to earn it. And if I can’t figure out what the hell I did, I go berserk. Not at the person, mind you. Just at myself. Which makes me inevitably weird to the person. Which, again, makes it even worse.
Modern psychology has all sorts of advice about letting people feel their feelings and owning your choices and giving them the space to do what they have to do… but I’m a fixer. I want things to be fine. I want people to be fine. I used to think this was a good quality, when it’s more just… selfish.
My late Nonna used to say, “Shalom!” and make a little “CHILL OUT” gesture with her hands if a discussion in her house got too pointed or a debate got too lively. Sometimes it was a joke, but she really didn’t like conflict. And I’m different — I can deal with conflict in the midst of it. Sometimes I propel it, even. I’m a hell of a debater, and I’m never more articulate then when I’m royally pissed off.
I just don’t like to deal with the consequences.
After arguing with my husband the other night about something ridiculous — and doing my usual, “I’M SO SORRY I’M A HORRIBLE WIFE!” and asking him if he was fine about five minutes after I was ready to unscrew his head and throw it at him — it occurred to me that I was doing three (just three?) annoying things consistently:
1. Not trusting my family and friends to love me (mostly) unconditionally
2. Dodging the consequences of things I was responsible for by forcing “okay”
3. Putting people in the awkward position of reassuring me when I’d just annoyed the hell out of them
It took me until I was in a new city with a whole new group of friends, and a new husband who was going to have to put up with me… forever… to realize that my way of dealing with things was kind of kooky. It lacked patience, it lacked faith in my relationships, and it was making me squirrelly.
I’m still figuring it out.
I know that there ARE people who want to make you feel terrible if they’re angry at you, and put effort into it — I’ve had those friendships, and they’re exhausting. But they’re also a rare animal.
Most people want to feel how they feel, take a bit to get over it, and then move on. Or they’ll tell you what they need when they figure it out. Or they’ll yell, and then stop yelling. Or you’ll apologize, and they’ll accept or not. All you can really do is do better next time, and respect how they deal with their frustration.
But it doesn’t escape me that most of the big life lessons I’ve had since I became an adult amount to CALM DOWN or SHHHHHH.
Oh, and, I LOVE YOU, DOOFUS.









