Story Time: The Story of the Girl Who Felt Too Much

Once upon a time there was a little girl who had enormous feelings. To her, the sky was never just blue: every day it amazed her with different shades of sapphire, azure, violet, ultramarine, or indigo. To her, a sunset was never just a sunset: it was a daily dose of unspeakable beauty and magic. To her, happiness was never just happiness: it was exuberant, all-encompassing joy! To her, sadness was never just sadness: it was a deep feeling of despair, sorrow, and anguish. To her, love was never just love: it was a profound commitment of devotion, adoration, and affection.

To this girl, everything felt big, BIG, BIG.

But the girl quickly learned that few people felt the world like she did and that most people couldn’t understand what it was like to be a Big-Feeling person in a Little-Feeling world.

When she was very young, her big feelings would come out as stubbornness, passion, or exuberance.

“Don’t be too sensitive.” she was told.

“Don’t be so shy.” they said.

“You need to stop crying so much.”

“It’s not a big deal; just get over it.”

So the girl tried her best to hold back her big feelings—she learned that big feelings aren’t appropriate. She learned to be polite and cautious, and giving and passive. She listened to the Little-Feelers and did what they asked of her.

But this got the little girl into trouble. Because when the little girl grew into a bigger girl, she became someone who was always doing what everyone else wanted her to do, instead of taking care of herself.

Soon, some No-Feeling people came along and started to take advantage of her. Since the girl was now used to holding back her enormous feelings and had become so good at ignoring what she wanted or needed, she let these people, the No-Feelers and the Misunderstand-ers, do and say bad things to her for many years. From them she learned that even when she tried her best to be a Little-Feeler, she was still Far Too Much. And that being Far Too Much somehow also meant that she was Never Enough—she went from being a Too-Much-Feeler to a Never-Enough-Feeler.

The girl was taught to be obedient and submissive and quiet. She never knew what the No-Feelers were going to demand of her, or what harsh words they were going to say, but she still wanted to feel something, so she did everything they asked, trying to earn love from those No-Feelers. She gave and she gave and she gave…and eventually she gave so much of herself, that there was hardly anything left.

Then, on a cold, winter’s night, one of the No-Feelers let her down and hurt her badly enough that something inside her shook to life. She finally became aware that the people around her weren’t actually giving her love; that they were selfish, No-Feelers and that she needed to escape from her life with them.

On that night, the girl-now-woman reached deep down inside of herself and found a small piece of the stubborn, passionate, exuberant little girl she used to be. She decided, somehow, that she no longer wanted to be Not Enough. And she put that tiny piece back into its place.

She tried to hold it there carefully, but sometimes she lost it as she fought against the No-Feelers, who refused to let her go. Thankfully, she always found the little piece again and amazingly, this piece, so fragile and nearly forgotten before, began to grow.

Clutching that tiny shred of her childhood, and drawing on the Big Feelings she had found again, the woman was able to get away from all the bad, No-Feeling people she had become entangled with.

Sadly, the damage that the No-Feelers and the Misunderstand-ers had done was so much that the woman still didn’t feel like enough. But she practiced, every day, and she started to learn that there were people who loved her, even though she was a Big-Feeler and even if they weren’t.

The woman kept practicing, still often feeling like a Too-Much-er in a Too-Little world, but also enjoying a reunion with her big feelings. She began to see the sky as infinite shades of blue again. Sunsets and sunrises made her pause with their enchanting beauty. She laughed sometimes and she cried a lot. And she slowly started to embrace being a Big-Feeler, because she had finally realized that she couldn’t change how she felt the world and that she didn’t need to.

xxJ



“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.” – Roald Dahl

Story Time: Blue Bic Pen

I love being a story-teller and I have this idea that it would be rad to share some of the significant experiences I’ve had using a narrative format. I want to tell stories about things that connect with the purpose of head/strong—abuse, mental health, life, love… I want to engage people in conversations about these things in creative ways, so settle in everyone; it’s story time.

xxJ

P.S. Obviously privacy is important, so names will always be changed, but the stories are otherwise true.


I’m 15-years-old and, along with 30 or so other kids, I’m sitting in a cold and musty portable for my Grade 10 English class with Miss Lee.  This week we’re studying media literacy and today we’re starting a group assignment looking at the messages and imagery advertisers use to promote their products. We’re a few minutes into the class, groups have been assigned, and we’ve be given most of the period to work on our presentations.

My group is gathered close to the front of the portable. I remember seeing the chalkboard directly ahead of me—it was filled with our teacher’s neat, curly, cursive writing. I stand up to retrieve the package of assignment guidelines, printed on blue copier paper, from the teacher’s desk at the front of the class.

As I return to my group and begin to sit down on my chair, something jabs me between my legs. Shocked, I look behind me and I see, grinning up at me, the face of a boy in my group. In his hand is a blue, Bic pen, poised vertically on the seat of my chair.

I sort of register what’s happened, but I don’t know what to say… So I blush, I hold back embarrassed and confused tears, and I force myself to start the work with my group. But, through my thin, Jockey underwear and the jeans I stole from my older sister, I feel bruised and tingly. In fact, my shock makes it impossible for me to feel anything else until the bell rings and I’m shaken into the present moment.

As my classmates file out of the portable, I decide that I’m going to say something to my teacher. I wait for the classroom to empty and then I head over to Miss Lee’s desk.

I am so embarrassed and I can barely get the words out, but Miss Lee is young and friendly, she has a kind and approachable face.

“Brian stuck his pen up between my legs at the beginning of class.”

She asks me to repeat what I just told her, so I do. My cheeks burn with embarrassment and shame for not understanding what happened and for not just ignoring it like I’m sure most other girls would. Miss Lee asks me a few more questions, which I do my best to answer before stumbling out of the portable.

Later that day, my parents get a phone call from my school. Miss Lee has talked to the administrators, and Brian and his parents have had a meeting with them; Brian denied everything. I tell my parents what I know happened and I resolve to face Brian at school the next day. Where this courage comes from, I’m not sure, but it doesn’t last, because when I show up at Miss Lee’s portable for my second-period English class I’m met with nasty taunts from Brian and his friends, who are standing outside the portable’s door. They call me a liar and a slut. They say I just want attention. They make me cry.

I uncharacteristically skip Miss Lee’s class that day.

Time passes and the incident quickly blows over. I mean, it’s not really that big of a deal, right? Boys will be boys? Maybe it didn’t even happen…did I make it all up? 

No, I didn’t.

In Miss Lee’s grade 10 English class, I learned that advertisers use women’s bodies to sell everything from cigarettes to shoes. I also learned that boys can shove Bic pens between girls’ legs and it’s not called sexual assault. I learned that I should feel shame for something that made me feel violated and that I should just get over it, because most people don’t think it’s a big deal, especially not Brian.

But I don’t ever really get over it, and the truth is, I still feel that pen sometimes.

I still feel that pen.

xxJ

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“Beautifully smooth” eh? I wonder what Miss Lee would have said about Bic For Her; it certainly makes me cringe.