That Time a [Former] Teacher Blocked Me

I remember the moment very vividly. I was sitting cross legged on a pull out bed, and I was on vacation with my mom.  (Who, by the way, woke me up every day at 8am to watch animal videos she found on Facebook). Anyway, I was scrolling through my Facebook feed when I saw it.  Someone had tagged a former teacher of mine in a post, and I realized I couldn't click the name.

I remembered a few months ago searching for this teacher on Facebook, and being unable to find her.  I was sad, but assumed she must have deleted her Facebook account.  I may have even messaged another former teacher to tell that first teacher I said hello, or possibly even sent an email to her school email account. I'm not really sure, I can't remember that detail now.

Never, in my wildest dreams did I imagine that she--someone I thought of as a mentor to me during high school--had blocked me. But, sitting in that hotel room, I knew that's what happened. I tried to search again, to be sure, and nothing. I logged in from another account, and was able to see her--that's when I knew for sure, without a doubt, she had blocked me. That information hit me like a ton of bricks. 

I distinctly remember my mom asking me what was wrong, and I tried not to cry as I told her "Mrs. _____ blocked me on Facebook." My mom didn't remember her, but she could tell I was upset, "Don't let it bother you." She told me, no doubt knowing that was futile--everything bothers me.  I searched through this old teacher's profile for the last post I remembered seeing, and then tried to correlate it with something controversial I had posted on my Facebook around that time. I really could find nothing, and I started to cry.

Now, it didn't ruin our vacation or anything even close to that, but it bugged me for awhile.  It's no secret that I am a very sensitive person, and so having someone block me on Facebook might sting no matter what.  But, this person was a mentor, someone I really looked up to in high school, someone who wrote me a letter of recommendation for college, someone I named in a blog post about good teachers, so it felt even worse--felt even more personal. Never mind that 8 or 9 years had passed since I was even in high school, and I had become a much different person than I was back then (this teacher probably had, too).

But it still bothered me. I couldn't fathom what I had done to make her block me--and, you know? I still can't.  Sometimes I still see her tagged, and I think 'I wonder what I did?' But then, something else comes to mind: I don't care.  I really genuinely do not care anymore what I did, or even that she blocked me in the first place.  Which is actually kind of a revelation.

You see, my whole life I have been a people-pleaser. As far back as I can remember, I remember being (and enjoying being) the teacher's pet.  I was kind to teachers, I looked up to them, and just like [most] everyone else, I wanted them to like me (and often wanted them to like me the best).  Now, whether they did or did not like me the best isn't really the point (and, I really don't know/care now whether they did or not). But, truth be told, I was a good student--and I loved school, so teachers held a special spot in my mind--they were on a pedestal.  In high school I used to debate with family members telling them that teachers should make way more money than they make (I still believe they should).  At several points, I even wanted to be a teacher.  So, even 8 or 9 years later, being blocked by a teacher I really liked in high school genuinely bothered me.

But it also taught me a couple of lessons-- we are not who we were 8 or 9 years ago.  None of us are.  And knowing why I was blocked doesn't really matter in the long run.  Who I was then is a part of who I am now, but I don't have to let it rule--I don't have to be that same girl who seeks approval from her teachers (past, present, or future. Or even from her peers--but maybe that's a different blog). And it's okay if these people don't approve of me, even if they did at one time.  People are allowed to change.

Social media is really great sometimes.  It allows you to keep in touch with people you wouldn't have otherwise, and some days I am thankful for it (other days, I swear I'll delete it).  And if the day ever comes where I do hit that little delete button, I'll probably be relieved, and yet thankful for the lessons it taught me.

Had that teacher not blocked me, I might never have learned that it's okay if I leave the past in the past.  She and I were close (ish) a very long time ago, and she was a pretty good teacher most of the time, but that time has come and gone--and that's okay.  I'm different now, and truth be told, I like who I am now a hell of a lot better than I like who I was then--and if that teacher, for whatever reason, decided the opposite was true? Oh well.  I haven't lost anything except another reason to cling on to the past.

And, as sad as I was for a few days, the truth of the matter is this:

How I feel about the blocking now (and, indeed, all blockings)

So, thank you, Teacher, wherever you are--for the past, and for the present. For the lesson it taught, I am happy to not know you now.

Sorry I'm Not Sorry

A few years ago I was on a film set, shooting a short film that I was acting in.  This was long before "Sorry I'm not sorry" was a popular phrase thrown around to express how unapologetic one truly is. It was my very first time on set, and I was really nervous and really excited and kind of scared.  I didn't sleep much the night previous, due to these emotions, and also a tragedy that struck the day before.

I arrived at set on Saturday morning at 6am, costumes in tow, unsure of what to expect, having never been on a set before. It was October, and it was foggy, cold, and my stomach was in knots. I went over to our makeshift craft services section, and busied myself the only way I know how--munching, and making sure that refrigerated items weren't left out of the ice chests. I stuck yogurts and milk into the ice chest with a shaky hand, issuing quiet warnings of 'this stuff can't be left out.'

Overall, it was a great experience--surrounded by friends and fellow actors, it was nice to be on set, to see the cameras, schedule, run lines, and listen to music to get me prepared for my scenes. I felt like a real actress, and it was pretty fabulous.  Then, it was time to shoot my first scene--I stood in a tiny room getting mic'ed by the sound engineer for the project, a stern (but friendly) lady who had been in the industry for many years.

As she was putting the mic on me, my arm was in the way--"I'm sorry." I said, and she kind of looked at me.  A minute later, my very existence being an impediment to how the mic fit, I apologized again, "Oops, sorry." I said, and then she looked at me.

"Stop apologizing." She said, her tone was kind, but firm.

"Sorry." I said, again, by rote--not even kidding around.
"Stop saying you're sorry," She said again, "Are you really sorry?" She inquired.
I thought about it for a moment--"No." I said, simply, realizing I wasn't sorry.

She went on to explain to me that she had encountered this phenomenon for years, mostly from women, apologizing when they weren't really sorry.  Throughout the rest of the mic session, any time I felt like saying sorry, I would try to catch myself.  I failed a couple times, and she and I laughed together.  "It's hard, isn't it?" She asked, and it was.

After I did my scene (which I was really proud of, by the way), I thought more about what she said, about the apologies I offered, and how I wasn't really sorry--I just wanted people to like me, to think I was polite.  Which, I suppose, there is nothing inherently wrong with. But, then I stopped and thought about it more. I was apologizing, in this particular instance, for my body being present. For the appendages, which are of myself, being in the way of someone strapping a foreign object to my body--I was apologizing to them when I moved the wrong way, when I didn't move fast enough.  I thought back to my time in the makeup/hair chair, and noticed the same thing-- I was apologizing for blinking, for moving my head, or scratching my nose.

When I thought about it in those terms--it was ridiculous. I realized that I cared so much about what people thought of me, that I was essentially apologizing for my own existence.  Like, 'oh, sorry my very presence is an annoyance/impediment to your work, I apologize profusely and incessantly in the hopes that you don't think I'm rude or don't appreciate what you're doing for me.'

Kind of crazy, really, when I looked at it like that.  The rest of the time filming, I really concentrated on not apologizing for trivial things.  I tried really hard to not say sorry unless I meant it--If I accidentally hit someone when moving my arm, I am sorry; if someone hits me, I am not.  Before that weekend, I would apologize for either instance.

It was more difficult than I imagined--I learned for the first time how absolutely ingrained 'I'm sorry,' and 'Sorry' were in my every day vocabulary.  And the thing is: I never even noticed.  How many times had I apologized before this, hundreds?  Thousands?  More? 

Most of us--or at least some of us--were brought up to be polite. We were taught that we shouldn't be rude, we should be kind, we should treat others with respect.  I thought maybe that had something to do with why I apologized so much, but that wasn't it, not when I really sat down to think about it.  No, it was more than just manners--please, thank you, you're welcome--it was deeper than that.  When I looked at why I was apologizing, it wasn't because I was sorry, it was because I felt like an inconvenience, because I felt like I needed to make sure the person I was randomly apologizing to knew that I was a nice person, that he or she really liked me.  It was because I felt like an inconvenience--and what I learned that weekend, is that I wasn't--I'm not--an inconvenience. And if I am, well... that's not because of me.

After filming was over, I hugged the woman who taught me this, and told her thank you, and meant it.

For awhile, I kept it up--I wouldn't randomly drop an apology for something I wasn't truly sorry for, for inane things like taking too long to retrieve money from my wallet, to find a card, or enter my PIN number at the checkout line, or being in someone's way on a sidewalk.

Recently, however, when I was at a drive thru retrieving my Diet Coke (I still really need to cut back), I noticed myself apologizing for not speaking loudly enough.  "Oh, a large diet coke, sorry."  I wasn't sorry at all! And yet, there I was apologizing, as if to say pleasedonotbemadatme.

It was then that I realized I had begun walking on eggshells with the rest of the world again--I had forgotten the lesson I learned that weekend in October, which in the short run was: Don't apologize for things you aren't actually sorry for. And in the long run was: You are just as worthy as everyone else.  You deserve things just as much as everyone else.  Your existence is not an inconvenience, and if it is, it is not your problem, it is theirs.

So, you see, I realized that I need to get that back--I need to work on not apologizing at random, to strangers, for things I can't control or are not my fault.  When someone bumps into me on the street, I don't need to apologize, they should.  

It's a tough lesson to learn--it was then, and it certainly will be again. But, it's pretty important--on the surface it isn't a big deal, but at the heart of the issue, it's realizing that I am important. Sorry I'm not sorry.