Will our children remember us by the toy we couldn’t afford to buy them or by the one we repaired? Will our friends remember the expensive birthday gift or the drunken insult? Will our partners remember the first lie or the last embrace?
I was recently in a position to speak to a group of forty-five teens on the topic of self-esteem. The idea, quite logically, was: When we love ourselves, we can love others. But strangely, as the words slipped over my lips and out into the warmth of the quiet, carpeted conference room, the idea turned and became: When we love others, we can love ourselves.
“How do you feel when someone gives you flowers for no particular reason?” I asked a girl in the front row. She was brown-haired and mousey. Shy, eyes shifting, deep blush that told me no one ever had, except maybe her grandma or parents.
“I feel amazing,” she answered, her voice a murmur of the expected but so deep with sincerity no one snickered.
“If someone bought you flowers just for being you, could you still feel bad about yourself?” I opened my hands, palms up, offering the question to the room, careful not to put anyone too much on the spot.
Another girl answers, “All the time.” Then, with raw honesty, “Sometimes it makes me feel worse.”
I’m nodding and I’m not the only one. I lift my hands higher, I shrug, I let my incredulous uncertainty flood my face. “How messed up is that, huh?” There’s laughter.
Someone buys us flowers, or picks us flowers, hand-chosen and perfect in their imperfections. They care about us. There is no reason for this offering. It isn’t our birthday. It isn’t a holiday. They’ve done us no harm, caused no slight. But here they are. Flowers. For us.
We stare at the bunch, the colors, shapes and textures. The scents are awesome. But with no self-esteem, with guilt and anger and uncertainty and doubt instead of self-esteem, we look at the gift and say: “I don’t deserve this. I’m not worthy of this. What does this person want from me? They’re just trying to deceive me. They’re just trying to get something from me.” We don’t believe we’ve earned the gift. We actually come to twist everything around until we don’t even believe it *is* a gift but rather the flowers are a trick... to make us feel not better but even worse.
“How do you feel when you give someone flowers for no reason at all, just because?” I ask the question of a broad-shouldered young man with a high and tight hair cut and very green eyes. He raises his prominent, very square chin and says in a voice deeper than his peers, “I feel *great.*” And it’s obvious from the smile that softens his features that he’s speaking from experience.
I ask the room, “Can you feel bad about yourself when you give someone else flower for no reason at all?”
There are many answers tumbling over each other and for a while everyone agrees. There is laughter and wide smiles. The audience makes those collective leaps that audiences do. Learning en mass, the masses are learning.
“If you want to feel good about yourself, do something for someone else,” one kiddo intones, spreading his hands wide like mine then screwing up his face and rolling his eyes with the simplicity of it all. “Duh!” There’s more laughter, including mine, then a brave young woman poses this:
“Sometimes, though, it makes me mad. I wish the other person would do something nice for me just because.”
This quiets then silences the room. Eyes drifts from her to me, back and forth with expectation, surprise, respect.
I look up a little, like I’m thinking. I brush my hair back away from my face. “Then you really aren’t giving the gift just because, are you?” I meet her eyes, half-hidden by blonde hair. “You’re not giving the gift just because. You’re giving to teach a lesson... or make an example... or make someone guilty.”
She is very quiet. I don’t need her to say more because she’s far from the only one in those room to have felt that way.
How do you treat your friends? How do you speak to them? How do you ask them for things? How do you praise them? How do you treat your family? How often do you raise your voice in anger or displeasure? When people you love are angry or hurting, when they’re disappointed by small things or big things, how do you react? Are you impatient when a child needs help? Are you resentful when you aren’t the leader of the pack?
Do you step up and protect the ones you love or do you stand back and praise them for standing alone?
Do you quietly work behind the scenes to protect them from pain without expecting kudos in return or is every action in expectation of a reward?
Do you love for who someone else is or for what loving will get you?
I say to the room, “I always hear it said, ‘Love yourself and you will be able to love others.’ I don’t think I can love myself if I’m not spending my hours loving someone else first.
“I was taught to try to live like Christ. He didn’t gain anything by preaching the word and the way. He wasn’t universally adored. He wasn’t rich. He wasn’t given a position of power. His every moment was spent loving us. Loving for nothing in return. Loving even when He was hated in return.
“It seems a very simple thing but it’s only simple on the surface: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Treat others as you would want them to treat you. And stepping further onto Christ’s path: Treat others as He would treat them. Do unto others as love dictates.”
I look at the faces turned toward me. I smile a little. They are mostly thinkers. Natural leaders. Hand-picked by their peers and teachers to be here today. How interesting that a group like this would be determined to need a talk about self-esteem.
I finish with a shrug and deeper smile, “It is very hard to hate yourself when you’re rejoicing for someone else.”
From the back of the room, a young person’s voice, “My cup runneth over.”
EJ
