Does she smile?

I have been wanting to write about this one for a while.

This past summer I went with my girlfriend Aly and her family to the Outer Banks. I was with Aly and her brother when we stopped at a smoothie shop. I don’t remember what I was feeling. I’m sure I was tired, overheated, dehydrated? I’m sure the very small, and very crowded shop made me feel overstimulated. I’m also sure that I was just being me- patiently waiting for my smoothie. The man at the counter looked to Aly, and gestured to me while saying, “Does she smile?”

I felt embarrassed, I felt like I was under a microscope. I became hyper-aware of how I look to others. I’m sure I forced a slight smile to assure this guy I was fine. Though, maybe I didn’t. Maybe it made me frown more, or even glare at him. I can’t remember how I responded, I just remember wanting to cry, hating him, and hating myself.

“Does she smile?” It took me back to childhood. I was at the grocery store with my mom. Again, who knows how I was feeling. I know I get overstimulated at grocery stores, I know my mom often made me irritable. I don’t remember if I was sad? I do remember the cashier. She was an older woman. She stared at me the entire time she was scanning our groceries. My mom was paying when she slipped me some candy. I went to thank her, just before she said, “Ah! There! I got a smile out of you!”

I remember it making me more angry, and I remember never wanting to go anywhere ever again. Both of these experiences made me feel horrible about myself. I believed I was darkness, dimming everyone else’s light, and bringing gloom into the world. I was that miserable kid in the grocery store.

In the cashier’s mind, she could have been thinking, “I did a kind thing. I made a sad girl smile.” For me, it carried such a different meaning.

“What is wrong with Haley?”

Oof. I heard that one a lot throughout my life. I would not know why, but I would be in a room full of people and my energy would die down from when I arrived. I would be spacey, sad, or just overwhelmed. I remember my aunt once assumed it was my pre-teen hormones that made me leave the room in tears. I didn’t know why I was crying, and she hugged me and joked, “I understand. I get this way too.” But do you understand?

Everyone would ask if I was okay. It is a complicated thing to be upset over, because sometimes I’m not okay and I appreciate people noticing. Other times, I am just in my head or being me, and that question teaches me that I am making others uncomfortable by being me. I will space out or dissociate and someone will wave their hand in front of my face. They will ask if I’m tired, or if I need food. I am in my 20’s now, so why is this still happening?

My mom once approached me after a family gathering. A relative had asked her if I was mad at them. They told my mom I had been glaring at them across the room. When my mom told me this, I was confused. “Mom, I don’t even remember a moment where I was looking at them or staring at all.” I realized I must have been spacing out, and this person just assumed I hated them. It makes me feel so uneasy to hear the ways that people view me, and perceive my behavior. What do the people I don’t know well really think about me?

I don’t think this post is going to have a positive twist. I don’t feel like saying, “I’m just going to embrace who I am, because who I am is enough.” I don’t feel like saying, “I’ve grown to not care what people think.” Yes, I can see compassion for myself by revisiting these stories, but I am writing this to acknowledge the hurt. It hurts. I’ve spent my life reassuring people I am okay, and turning my resting face into a smile when I don’t feel like smiling.

“Does she smile?”

Yes. I do. Can you see me with kind eyes if my face has a frown?