kayfromhome

No one told me I was average. Not once. I grew up under the shadow of Great Potential. (The less obvious, more pathetic follow up to Great Expectations)

I was 4 years old when I tested into private boarding school. “One of 10 out of 10,000” my mom used to say. I was speaking in full sentences by the time I was a year old, so it surprised no one. I remember vividly sitting in a cold, grey, dimly lit room assuring the woman in front of me that yes, I did know the difference between “in, on, behind, and beside.” Yes, I can read this aloud for you. Yes, I understand the purpose of this paragraph. (This was not the first instance where I had to wonder if I was more intelligent than the adult sitting before me.)

My parents made the decision not to send me away. My mother claimed it was because she was concerned about my social development. Joke’s on her, I turned out awkward anyway.

Instead, I was pulled from Kindergarten for sight reading at a 6th grade level. In lieu of skipping grades, I was placed into the Gifted and Talented program to excel with my peers. There was no more than a handful of us in that class, which had the unintended consequence of making me feel incredibly superior. We wrote letters to President Clinton and because we were special, the president wrote back! (Or so I believed…)

We were special. We were elite. We were the future of America.

We were also wrong.

At least, I was.

High school hit and by the time I was in the 9th grade, I was emotionally deficient to handle failure. If I wasn’t absolutely brilliant at something the first time through, I refused to do it. As the years went on, I refused to do a lot of things. Thus, my story of gifted kid burn out had begun. Gone were the days that I spent poring over novels and writing my own… I was now the overly talkative, troubled girl with attention issues. The one who “had so much potential,” if only she could get herself together.

I share my history, not to brag, but to lament.

I had formed my identity around the idea that I was exceptional. Outstanding. Smart without trying. How did I go from the amazing talking/reading baby that my parents brought out as a party trick, to the ultimate disappointment of wasted potential that I had become?

No one told me I was average. But as it turned out, I was. I was no longer the best without trying, or the wittiest without thought. I may have had a head start over my peers in grade school, but that was short lived. If I was no longer the “gifted kid,” then who was I?

If from 4-14 I was the golden child, from 14-24, I was was wracked with existential guilt and dread. From impressive to imposter… for many years I inhabited the shadow of my former self. Until now.

Marriage and motherhood have been instrumental in dismantling the need to perform in order to curry love and appreciation. Marriage, because I somehow ended up with the most supportive and validating man in the entire universe. Motherhood, because the intense love and esteem I have for an utterly dependent, underperforming, helpless human being has rocked my world. It’s transformed my once distorted ideal of what it means to be “worthy of love.”

I would be more than amiss to pawn off all the credit to my husband and daughter, when Christ is so clearly at the heart of my story of redemption. The God who is everything cared very little that I was nothing. In fact, He preferred it. My weakness is where His power shone. Where I was lame with crippling defeat and self-doubt, Jesus extended a hand and said “Rise and walk. Your sin of self-adulation and striving is forgiven.”

While I still sometimes feel chained to the identity of Formerly Gifted, I know within my heart of hearts that “average” isn’t the death sentence I once believed. In fact, it’s been a gift. It’s been permission not to do things because I’m good at them, rather, because I enjoy them. Permission to fail, because dang it all, I’m only human.

If you are a former gifted kid whose life turned out… not as you expected, you have my congratulations rather than my condolences. I empathize with your identity crisis, but I encourage you, keep going. Do the deep work of discovering yourself sans labels.

I promise it’s worth it.