At the end of The Breakfast Club, Molly Ringwald kisses Judd Nelsen. Why? Because he's a complete dick to her the entire day. And she's a girl. And that, apparently, is what we do.
After all, The Game sat comfortably at #1 on Amazon after its release and enjoyed a spot on the New York Times bestseller list. Strauss provides sage advice how to pick up women, including tips such as: pretend you don't notice her, insult her, and alternate between attraction and disinterest. A recent article in Psychology Today cites research that points at girls' intelligence as liability and almost deterrent to courage, perseverance, and self confidence. It asks "What makes smart girls more vulnerable, and less confident, when they should be the most confident kids in the room?"
My question exactly. In fact, this post started before I'd read that article and started something like this:
Why would a 6 year old be afraid to say NO to an unwanted kiss? Why would she be reticent to let mom say anything to the offender? Why does she throw up her hands and cry because she can't do something? And why does she run to her bed and collapse when she isn't able to force something into the shape she had planned?
Why has her mom lived much of her life saying and doing these very same things? Why do women across America compare their insides with other people's outsides? An interminable comparison happening behind mascara and lip gloss, sunglasses and sweat pants. Why are we so taken with what everyone else is saying and doing?
Through some magic combination of forces seen and unseen, we become fearful and small. We rely on Judd Nelsen to tell us that we really exist. And then we insist on proving to him just how special we are even though we are sure he is right to mistreat us. Our self abuse far outweighs that of the pick up artist and the jerk.
But why?
Because we fear that what is inherent in us isn't quite enough.
Because we fear that our brilliance is happened upon and in short supply.
Because we fear that we forgot to get in line for our share of courage.
Because we fear.
The walls that we build to protect us become our most certain cages. We are isolated and stuck. We are afraid to be uncovered, to stretch, to be ourselves.
And as we learn to extend a hand, to find our voice, we tremble and wobble and fall back into our silence because it is all just too much. And after all - we aren't really enough. Are we?
What power lies in the truth? What liberation might be just a few feet further? What if today, courage says "Stand there and tremble. You won't fall." What if today you act "as if" and can close your eyes and feel full and whole and worthy?
The truth is that we are powerful beyond measure. The truth is that we are enough. Say it over and over again, whisper it to the wind, scream into the sunlight and mumble it to yourself as you fall asleep each night.
You are enough.
I am enough.
So how do we teach our girls these lessons before they are crippled by self-doubt, self-loathing, insecurity and fear? Is it simply to change the praise that we offer? I doubt it. Do we have to descend into the dark to find the strength to step fully into ourselves, to discover our own courage? Does the realization of that rich, full brand of freedom have to be a phoenix process, a death and rebirth? Or can we become girls early on that do not thrive on the mistreatment of others to define, challenge, inspire or dishearten us?
How do we create a new kind of Molly Ringwald and let go, finally, of our self-deprecating romanticism and allegiance to the John Hughes and Neil Strauss manipulations of our time?
I can't say that I have the answer. I am definitely asking the questions though. Join me?
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