The little box of expectations

I recently read that, between the ages of eight and ten, children start to view themselves based on their understanding of how they perform in school, their capacity to make friends, and their physical appearance. 
 
They also start to understand that they can feel two emotions in one heart—I like playing with my friend, but I don’t like the way they talk to me. 
 
Between eight and ten years old, children start to feel that a sense of belonging and being accepted by their peers are very important. 
Between eight and ten years old, children start to develop social skills like empathy and compassion. 
 
Alexis,
In the last year, your little mind and heart have been through a heck of a lot. And there is still a lot more to go.
It scares me when I think about how fast you are learning and growing, and how important it is becoming for you to fit into the world. Your first sense of identity and self will come from how you perform and how others accept you. It will be a long time before you realise that your worth does not boil down to what others think of you, even when it feels like it.  
When fitting in is important, which it will be, you will change your standards, how you think and how you act, based on who you think those around you want you to be. These adjustments you make to yourself aren’t for you, they’re for those around you.
 
Soon, you will focus a lot on pleasing others.
You’ll squish yourself into the little box of society’s expectations. In this box, you will look, talk and act a certain way. This box, this society, will tell you not to be too loud, too confident, too large, too shy, too outgoing, too activity, too assertive. This box will tell you small is best. Small boobs, small brain, small voice, small waist. It’ll tell you that females should fall into line; their opinions should be gentle and graceful as should their movements. The box will tell you to shave all your body hair, cover all your flaws with make-up or with a filter, to only have smooth, shiny hair with no flyaways. The box will tell you not to have your own style, not to think for yourself, to put your feelings aside so that others will feel better about themselves. This box, once you are in it, will tell you that your most important relationship is with a male (one who fits into a similar but different box). Alexis, to fit inside this box your nails need to be done, you need to pose a certain way in photos. You’ll need to take 8,000 photos to find a single acceptable one to share, so you can feel validated by society and people you don’t know on social media.  
I had a box. A squishy, little, perfectly acceptable box. Although, my box looked a little different. My box told me not to have any sexual desires until I was married and that if I did, I was sinful. It told me not to drink, not to smoke, not to swear. This box told me I needed to go to meetings on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. It told me that working myself into the ground would let me achieve acceptance and approval. It told me to cover my body to make others feel more comfortable. I was in a box that told me, “Don’t agree with gay marriage or relationships”, “Abortion is wrong”, and “The LGBTQIA+ community is confused”. This box told me that every religion, except for one, is wrong. 
 
We all have a box that we squish (or are squished) into, and we stay cramped up in there just to show just how acceptable we are. It’s only with age that we start to find our way out of the box.
 
I don’t have a box anymore, but I do have a handbag. This handbag allows for me to take parts of me out and replace them with the parts I need in any moment. When I need to be calm or brave or protective, I can be.
 
We are ever-changing and our personality is fluid; it expands, shifts, moves and changes daily. Who we are and the parts of ourselves we choose to reveal depends on where we’re going, who we’re with—sometimes even how we slept the night before. For example, on a workday, I have a certain way I dress and act; I push my mum expectations to the side of my bag to make room for Work Kate. When I’m at work there are standards and expectations I have to adhere to. If I leave work and go out for a drink with a friend, I replace Work Kate with Friend Kate. Friend Kate is a little louder, maybe a bit funnier, a bit more willing to talk about controversial issues. Then I come home, and Mum Kate takes over. I give you and Solomon cuddles, I soften my voice, spend time with you and try to forget my hardships from the day. 
 
Do you see how in different times and places, I have to adjust who I am? It can be confusing sometimes to remember what Kate is expected in what place; what I’m taking out of the handbag and what I’m replacing it with. But here’s the thing, there are some things that I always keep in my handbag. Kindness, empathy, compassion, laughter, and manicured nails. Mum Kate, she is always in there. Runner Kate also exists (even though I recently misplaced her), as well as Family Kate, Customer Kate… There is a different me for everywhere I go. However, all of these versions of me, although they are different, they are all the true me.
All these versions are the true me, because I am showing up to the world how I choose to—not how I am told to.
 
I’ve tried hard to learn which values and expectations I will accept from society, and which I won’t. For example, my weight isn’t important to me, but my mental health is. I exercise and eat well not to be thin (because I don’t think that is an indication of health), but to feel good. I don’t wear make-up every day, because I feel better about myself when my flaws are on display. 
 
The box which society encourages us to fit it to, its purpose is to limit us and our ability. Sure, society celebrates those who do well, who are successful—but only if it is in a way that society deems successful. Not when it’s demanding or outspoken or expects too much from others. I am okay with being demanding and outspoken and expecting too much when I need to… but I haven’t always been okay with it.
 
Alexis,
What I have tried to create is the ability for me to adjust, shift and change. The most important relationship in my life is the relationship I have with myself; everything I say, do, think, and feel comes from this relationship. It impacts my relationship with others, with you. My relationship with myself impacts what I say and do, the treatment I accept from others, and how I treat others. It’s not my relationship with a male that gives me my identity and makes me relevant (or irrelevant) to society, but how I invest in myself.
​
I am not as concerned about my looks as society might think I should be, but instead more concerned about my heart. Yes, I care, but I accept my flaws and while there are some I want to erase (such as my very pale skin), there are others I’m proud of. The stretch marks you so regularly point out, the mum tum, the saggy boobs which fed two babies. I am not ashamed of these, despite society’s low opinion of them. 
 
Alexis, what I believe about myself now, I started to believe when I was young. It was all forming inside me when I was your age. 
 
Between the ages of 8 – 10, when you’re discovering your place in the world, you start moving into the little box based on how you perform at school, how you make friends and the way you look. You adjust your place in the box when you see how accepted by others you are. Here is what I hope you learn this year:

• Your worth is far beyond how others do or don’t view you. 
• Your worth is not based on popularity. Popularity does not mean you are well-liked, it means you are well-known. The quietest person in class can be the most well-liked because they are genuine. 
• It’s more important for you to like yourself than for others to like you. If you do something that you are not proud of, that is not what you should be doing. 
• Who you are is fluid. Who you are at school, at home (at your home with dad and at your home here), and at sport, these people are all the true you. 
• A good physical appearance doesn’t make you a good person; a bad physical appearance doesn’t make you a bad person. 
• Sometimes it’s hard to do the right thing—like being nice to someone who doesn’t deserve it or sticking up for someone your friends are teasing—but it’s always worth it.
• Listen to your gut. Your body will physically tell you what you already know deep down. When you know something and ignore it, your body responds in a physical way to force you to listen. If you can learn this now, it will save you from a lot of heartaches and potentially dangerous situations. 
• If your body, gut, heart and mind tell you something is wrong, believe it. Know that listening to your body and your emotional response, even if that means saying no to something, is more important than being accepted.
• Stand up for yourself and for others who have no one to stand up for them. 
• Although life isn’t always beautiful, don’t run away from the hard times. They are never fun, but they are always beneficial. 
• No matter what, laugh, try new things, and believe in yourself.
• Train for Ninja Warrior, Beast Master, Survivor—the things that society says are for men—they’re wrong. They’re for you. Being strong means you’re focused on what you want to achieve, be and do. If you want to train, I hope you know that I believe that you can and will do it. 
• I hope that I can teach you about moving, shifting and adjusting your expectations of yourself—and I hope I can start to teach you how to let go of society’s expectations.

 
I want to share with you this extract from Glennon Doyle’s book Untamed. Although I wish I wrote it for you, I will read it for you instead.
 
I love you, my darling, and happy birthday.
_______________________________________________________________________
 
Two summers ago, my wife and I took our daughters to the zoo. As we walked the grounds, we saw a sign advertising the park’s big event: the Cheetah Run. We headed toward the families scouting out their viewing spots and found an empty stretch along the route. Our youngest, Amma, hopped up on my wife’s shoulders for a better view.
A peppy blond zookeeper in a khaki vest appeared. She held a megaphone and the leash of a yellow Labrador Retriever. I was confused. I don’t know much about animals, but if she tried to convince my kids that this dog was a cheetah, I was getting a Cheetah Run refund.
She began, “Welcome, everybody! You are about to meet our resident cheetah, Tabitha. Do you think this is Tabitha?”
“Nooooo!” the kids yelled.
“This sweet Labrador is Minnie, Tabitha’s best friend. We introduced them when Tabitha was a baby cheetah, and we raised Minnie alongside Tabitha to help tame her. Whatever Minnie does, Tabitha wants to do.”
The zookeeper motioned toward a parked jeep behind her. A pink stuffed bunny was tied to the tailgate with a fraying rope.
She asked, “Who has a Labrador at home?”
Little hands shot into the air.
“Whose Lab loves to play chase?”
“Mine!” the kids shouted.
“Well, Minnie loves to chase this bunny! So first, Minnie will do the Cheetah Run while Tabitha watches to remember how it’s done. Then we’ll count down, I’ll open Tabitha’s cage, and she’ll take off. At the end of the route, just a hundred meters that way, there will be a delicious steak waiting for Tabitha.”
The zookeeper uncovered Tabitha’s cage and walked Minnie, eager and panting, to the starting line. She signalled to the jeep, and it took off. She released Minnie’s leash, and we all watched a yellow Lab joyfully chase a dirty pink bunny. The kids applauded earnestly. The adults wiped sweat from their foreheads.
Finally it was time for Tabitha’s big moment. We counted down in unison: “Five, four, three, two, one . . .” The zookeeper slid open the cage door, and the bunny took off once again. Tabitha bolted out, laser focused on the bunny, a spotted blur. She crossed the finish line within seconds. The zookeeper whistled and threw her a steak. Tabitha pinned it to the ground with her oven-mitt paws, hunkered down in the dirt, and chewed while the crowd clapped.
I didn’t clap. I felt queasy. The taming of Tabitha felt… familiar.
I watched Tabitha gnawing that steak in the zoo dirt and thought: Day after day, this wild animal chases dirty pink bunnies down the well-worn, narrow path they cleared for her. Never looking left or right. Never catching that damn bunny, settling instead for a store-bought steak and the distracted approval of sweaty strangers. Obeying the zookeeper’s every command, just like Minnie, the Lab she’s been trained to believe she is. Unaware that if she remembered her wildness— just for a moment—she could tear those zookeepers to shreds.
When Tabitha finished her steak, the zookeeper opened a gate that led to a small, fenced field. Tabitha walked through and the gate closed behind her. The zookeeper picked up her megaphone again and asked for questions. A young girl, maybe nine years old, raised her hand and asked, “Isn’t Tabitha sad? Doesn’t she miss the wild?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you,” the zookeeper said. “Can you ask that again?”
The child’s mother said, louder, “She wants to know if Tabitha misses the wild.”
The zookeeper smiled and said, “No. Tabitha was born here. She doesn’t know any different. She’s never even seen the wild. This is a good life for Tabitha. She’s much safer here than she would be out in the wild.”
While the zookeeper began sharing facts about cheetahs born into captivity, my older daughter, Tish, nudged me and pointed to Tabitha. There, in that field, away from Minnie and the zookeepers, Tabitha’s posture had changed. Her head was high, and she was stalking the periphery, tracing the boundaries the fence created. Back and forth, back and forth, stopping only to stare somewhere beyond the fence. It was like she was remembering something. She looked regal. And a little scary.
Tish whispered to me, “Mommy. She turned wild again.”
I nodded at Tish and kept my eyes on Tabitha as she stalked. I wished I could ask her, “What’s happening inside you right now?”
I knew what she’d tell me. She’d say, “Something’s off about my life. I feel restless and frustrated. I have this hunch that everything was supposed to be more beautiful than this. I imagine fenceless, wide-open savannas. I want to run and hunt and kill. I want to sleep under an ink-black, silent sky filled with stars. It’s all so real I can taste it.”

Then she’d look back at the cage, the only home she’s ever known. She’d look at the smiling zookeepers, the bored spectators, and her panting, bouncing, begging best friend, the Lab.
She’d sigh and say, “I should be grateful. I have a good enough life here. It’s crazy to long for what doesn’t even exist.”
I’d say:
Tabitha. You are not crazy.
You are a goddamn cheetah.