When Weird Kids Become Weird Adults

I knew I was going to grow up some day. I counted on it. Like most of us, I had placed a premium on the value of the "future" me and relegated the "present" me as inchoate--a work in progress that would eventually be fully formed. If I could just hang on long enough, then I would come into my own. But the truth is harsh. "Past" me became "Present" me, and they seemed unsatisfying when "Future" me remained the same awkward kid of my childhood.

Weird. Strange. Odd. Reserved. Standoffish. Aloof. Pensive. Shy. Introvert.

I have had every one of those words ascribed to me. Although their connotations may swing between positive or negative, their underlying message is the same. I am an odd duck. I would say of myself that I am eccentric, but a friend informed me that I would have to be wealthy to claim to both the adjective and the noun. Despite our silent logomachy, I feel that I am closer to the truth using eccentric. Merriam Webster gives the etymology of eccentric as Greek ekkentros, from ex out of + kentron center. Indeed, eccentric precisely defines how I feel. I am always out of the center. Cockeyed and wonky. Sometimes I am ok with it. Sometimes I am not. Often, others are more disturbed by it than I could ever be.

As a child, I was quiet. Painfully so. I was the youngest of three kids, and I had a far stronger preference for books and daydreaming than I ever did for human interaction. I crept corners like a mouse. Skirting around edges. Not skulking as if I had something sketchy to do, but avoiding any small conversations that inevitably unnerved me.

How does one make small talk? I marvel at my social butterfly friends. How wonderful to flit in and out of offices and join circles of friends in idle conversation. I mean that with total respect and not an ounce of sarcasm or cynicism. I have read multiple self-help books on how to better coexist, and my go-to remains asking questions about the other person or people.

In total frankness, I do not know what to say or how to say it. Recently, my new boss (Update--now my FORMER boss) asked me how I was doing since joining the school. I verbally vomited some such comment about how everything was fine except for my fourth period. Then, I fled. If he had something further to say, then I will never know. I will return to work weirdness in a bit.

Needless to say, small talk is one of my many Achilles' heels. I am sure I would have far more and, if so, I would use all of those feet to travel far, far away.

Of course, since small talk is required in every social situation, failing to master it makes me continue to seem odd or shy.

Socially Awkward People on Social Media
This is where someone socially awkward can find some solace. While I am too old to know how social media affects young people, in adulthood, I can craft an online presence edited to more closely represent my love and my concern for others. I can remark from behind the keyboard. I can revise my thought and read it before posting it. People who would never hear those words from me in person will find me waxing poetic on their posts. Those are not words I would say in a hallway nor dare add to a conversation of two or more gathered together.

Still, I avoid too much social media interaction. It is taxing. I felt I had tamped down all the pings and notifications that set my nerves on edge until Windows 10 added a "like" feature to email. I have made numerous attempts to stifle this sound that runs up my spine and causes me undue panic. Unfortunately, I would have to turn off the notifications of actual email sounds that are important.

About Sounds
Sounds frighten me. Irritate me. Leave me anxiety ridden to the nth degree. Pens tapping or clicking set my teeth on edge. When I leave work, I have to decompress in complete silence. No noise except the white noise of the fan going. I do not listen to music to drown out other noises because the music itself rattles me if it is too loud or too wordy.

Phones ringing. People talking at a bar. Multiple people talking during a presentation. Noise. Noise. Noise. It takes me off whatever task that needs my complete focus.

Focus, What Focus?
You had my attention there for the first few minutes. I swear. I was listening as hard as I could. But then you went on for more than a few minutes and you didn't provide me a paper copy to focus on and write notes. That's the only way I get those little suckers trapped and on paper.

I have been called out on it since I can remember. But once you have passed Number 1 of your things to remind me about, I have completely forgotten or zoned out while you were talking. Did I remember to write that email? Wait--was that appointment today? Now, I am panicked and a whole new tempest is raging in my mind.

I understand that meetings and conversations have a purpose. I understand that a meeting is to connect and to give information to the parties included. I even try to write notes to keep myself straight. The best meeting people are the ones who write an agenda and give each attendee a copy. As to conversations, I try very hard to what people are saying. But then, perhaps, they're telling stories about their dogs or whatever. Meanwhile, I wander in thought to my most beloved dog. Suddenly, I am misty-eyed about my own beloved dog and have failed to hear anything else.

Don't Touch Me
I did not learn to hug without flinching until I was well into my thirties. My best friend's husband is a hugger. I mean, full on, bear hug kind of guy. My family already knows that physical contact is uncomfortable for me. My own children know that I have to ease into hugs or handholding or any of that stuff. Don't get me wrong--I have hugged them and kissed their cheeks, but I am not a warm, fuzzy mom.

My friend's husband was unaware. To his credit, he was polite about my standoffish behavior. But I started to really think about it. I wondered why it bothered me so much. It wasn't that my parents hadn't tried to hug me and give me love. No, instead, it was an utter fear of contact and awkwardness about how long to hug...did one do a full hug or a half hug or a pat on the back hug. They all were to stressful to consider.

After years of wondering about the correct hug protocol, I learned from him that I could just go in for the hug. So when I see him, I tell him to give me a big hug. I assume that I am not tense about it because I have initiated the hug, and I know that he, as a bear hug kind of guy, will know I am all on board.

(Don't get me wrong. I don't run around all willy nilly giving hugs. That is super weird and I am only mostly weird.)

But I digress. Long story short--any initiation of physical contact from me has been learned, is purposeful, and always predicated on an idea that it is welcome. Certainly, not the makings for great relationships.

I Couldn't Even Commit to My Husband's Last Name
If idle chat is difficult for me, then relationships are beyond terrifying.

Over twenty plus years ago, I would have told you that I did not take my husband's name because I was a feminist. Now, I know that is not the reason. It is the literal eccentric...truly, I am out of the circle. I always find a way to stand on the periphery. I am not doing the hokey pokey. I am not going to remotely join that circle.

Commitment is a big issue for me.

I don't commit to plans. I don't show up to parties. I don't commit to anything that I know will bring extreme discomfort. Jobs are a nightmare. Relationships are a mine field.

So What Is the Takeaway

No matter the word choice or connotation--weird kids become weird adults. The problem for the world is there are a lot of us. Totally valid humans with great gifts who don't fit into the mainstream.

What I know is that I keep going to counseling. I continue being the pharmaceutical companies' guinea pig. But it is all in an attempt to coexist. Truly, it is only an attempt to coexist.

Our country is getting better about dealing with the outliers. The level of understanding now is far better than when I was a child. Behavioral therapy teaches us that we can make changes to assimilate with more ease. Unfortunately, much more has to be done. It is not enough to expect "weird" people to fit in. Society has to do better at addressing those of us who don't fit in. The behavior of the majority must change to take those with eccentricities under their wing.

The talk has to be real. As an educator, I am always told that my first concern is always the student's needs. However, I am still a valid human. When I am acting standoffish or strange, why not have a conversation about it? Like, "Hey, Jen, you seem to be avoiding everyone?" Or "What's going on? I noticed that you're not playing well with others."

These conversations have to happen. We don't write off weird kids because they're acting strange. We write up plans to help them succeed. We meet with them. We support them. We love them through their difficulties.

But we don't do that with adults. We don't form teams to help struggling adults at jobs. We don't determine real goals and objectives for how their strengths and gifts can best be used in our world. As an adult, the expectation is that assimilation is a solo endeavor.

Imagine a world where a weird adult can openly say, "Hey, I am wonky. Here are the things I am great at doing. Here are the things that will traumatize me." Imagine a workplace where we create teams to support the people in an organization. Imagine a company that creates goals and objectives to bring out the best in those we know are capable of adding to the value to whatever endeavor.

The naysayers will argue that employers are not mental health professionals.

I agree. Employers have no obligation to help employees who struggle at work. But as humans, we have a responsibility to one another. When we see others suffering, we are tasked with more than offering a paycheck.

As I said, I am an educator. A pained, troubled, educator. I just quit another job. One of many. I am embarrassed and mortified. I have hurt a friend who went to bat for me. I have had many friends go to bat for me. I have failed them as well. I have acted strange or struck out at people over an attempt to defend myself. I correct and overcorrect my behavior.

I keep trying. I try again. I fail again. Some years have been amazing. I have gone multiple years in teaching with success, and I have loved the consistency of those times. I have had employers who loved me, and they went to great lengths to help me. I have had employers who hated me and were glad to be rid of me.

Whatever the case, I will pick myself up. I will dust myself off. I will try again. I will work again. But I will say this. The number of weird kids who turn into weird adults is growing. That's not just my opinion. That is based in fact. If we are obligated to help students navigate through school, then we are morally obligated to help those same people when they are adults.

Finally, I am not blaming anyone for my behavior. I own it. But I do want to work. I want to work and have the same warmth and kindness afforded to me that I have for my students. I want to be loved and accepted in spite of my weirdness.