Melting candles

Survival 101:

Keep your head low. Don’t make eye contact. Stay small, stay out of the way. Stay quiet. Your exuberance is annoying. No one likes it. Stop shaking, you’re not 4, people shouldn't scare you.

Georgia, stop. Be quiet. STOP. People are staring. Just stop thinking. Stop Being.

I was 14 years old, my head was a mess. Crippling social anxiety plagued my thoughts.

I’d been trained by my peers since I was in the first grade.

Be a good girl, Georgia. Follow the rules we made for you. No one likes you, no one wants to be around you. I was not used to anybody wanting to be my friend. I wasn't used to people wanting to be around me. Why would they want to be? I was annoying and loud. I was distracted and too enthusiastic. I was inconvenient, a party crasher.  I sat alone on busses, kids whispered rumors about me. I was weird.

4H camp, 2013. I was so scared. I was going to be one of the oldest girls, attending for the first time. I didn’t know anyone, and everyone I knew, didn’t like me. I was expecting more rumors. Homesickness. Why on earth would my mom subject me to this insufferable, unusual, and cruel torture? I’d been in 4-H since I was 11, but I was perfectly fine staying in my little shell, where I couldn’t disturb the people. I felt bad enough that they had to deal with me during fair and spring comp.

4H camp lit something inside me me, and it just so happened to burn hot enough to start melting years upon years of self-protective walls that make bank vaults easy to break into.

The next year, I came back as a counselor. I started traveling with the OSU 4-H summer conference in Corvallis, Oregon. Kids wanted to hang out with me. They called my name across court yards and it didn’t sound like the most horrible word imaginable. I was still scared. I was shy. I wasn’t good at hanging out or remembering to tag along or speak up. I mean, kids were liking me. Why would I mess that up and open my mouth?

I kept melting. Confidence was finding its way into my head. Summer had finally come into my heart after years and years of frigid fear. I tried out for the Wallowa County 4-H court, and then got the position. The girls on the team weren't close with me, but we went on so many adventures across Oregon. I started changing my words from “I’m sorry” to “I worked for this.” I stopped trying to make myself so small that you couldn’t see me.  Slowly, I crawled out of myself.

4-H was burning inside of me. Pushing me outside of my small comfort zone. By 2015, I was creating my own community service projects, gaining momentum, I did a state talent show at the OSU summer conference, and my confidence skyrocketed. People were chanting my name. They cared about what I thought.

Suddenly, I crashed. My confidence hit the floor. I started avoiding people. Their affection for me couldn’t be real. I’m Georgia. The black plague. The girl with a skin problem. The loud one with too much school spirit and enthusiasm. I started questioning the authenticity of relationships I had built. I fabricated a shield. Y’all thought I was fake? I’ll show you fake.

I knew my over excited mannerisms pushed people away, so I turned it up to a 10 and tired TOO hard. I became flippant. Pfffff no one ACTUALLY cared how I was, so i just faked a smile, a laugh. Played the part that a pretty girl ought to, while being it TOO much. I SPARKLED in my armor. I was overly sparklie. No one likes gaudy sparkle. So guess what I was?

I was at summer conference, hanging out with a group of kids, and one of them looked me dead in the eye. He looked at me like he knew something. Like he knew that my efforts at happiness were completely and overly intentional.   It sent shivers down my spine. I can still remember.

“This isn’t you.”

Just like that, and somehow it dropped. Not instantly, but I could just feel it. I was exhausted. For a while, it felt like there were two people living inside of me. I wanted friends, I wanted relationship, but I was so scared. What if I got rejected? What if it turns out that this was a cruel joke? An act of charity?

Haha Georgia. You actually believe that we liked you? Pathetic.

OH my gosh. I can still feel the fear making my body shake. I remember my rules, I remember the faces of the kids sneering at me. I can remember the kids of my class laughing at me while they treated me like trash, and I took it because I wanted friends so bad.

Flash forward a couple years, and here we are. I had friends through 4-H, all over the nation. I confidently give public speeches. I’m blazing trails for kids like me, that feel alone, feel hated. Have shields up. Three years ago, I didn’t see myself here. Three years ago, I couldn’t see myself getting out of my own prison. 4-H helped me liberate myself. It took one single 4-Her to make me stop long enough for the real me to be heard. It took a group of five kids to help melt me. It took leaders, supportive peers, it took adventure.

4-H is more to me than a club. Or a bunch of clubs. 4-H is a home. It’s a support system. It’s a school. 4-H is more than livestock projects, sewing meetings, and memorised speeches. 4-H is growth, a liberator. Without 4-H, I wouldn't have had the opportunities to push myself and build the confidence to stand on my own. Without 4-H, I wouldn’t be who I am.