you, less than

[Today’s guest post comes from Pam Slim.]

You, Less Than.

I still remem­ber the smell of damp ivy from a recent rain as I stood in the back­yard, wai­ting for my Dad to take my picture.

It was 1971 and I was five years old. I was wea­ring a brightly colo­red knit vest, a pre­sent from my grandma. I tied my shoes myself, but was not totally sure I had them on the right feet. It didn’t mat­ter. I was one power­ful little girl. The Cham­pion of the World.

My Dad smi­led at me, squin­ting his eyes as he crouched behind the camera. I was safe, che­rished and loved. He snap­ped the picture.

Things blew up after that, rather quickly.

My Dad left home and his marriage, to find him­self. That’s what peo­ple did in the 1970’s in Marin County, California.

My world of family din­ners and Dr. Seuss bed­time sto­ries in my Dad’s lap ended. It was scary, unfa­mi­liar, off-balance.

The way I had known myself: child of happy parents, mem­ber of a “nor­mal” family was no longer.

I spent a lot of time trying to figure out who I was. I tried to be a per­fect stu­dent. And when that got to be too much, I inha­led, a lot. In my twen­ties I fell into a treache­rous lover’s arms and paid dearly with a bro­ken heart and woun­ded soul.

I found mar­tial arts, self-employment and writing.

And one day in a box full of old family pho­to­graphs, I found the picture.

Hol­ding the yello­wed edges in my hands, I remem­be­red who I was. I felt who I was. Who I had always been, except when I forgot.

Cir­cums­tan­ces can cause you to ques­tion who you are.

A boss wri­tes you a stin­ging per­for­mance review.

A rea­der lea­ves a bit­ter com­ment on your blog post.

A vocal audience mem­ber ques­tions your autho­rity in the middle of your presentation.

A publisher sends back your trea­su­red manusc­ript with a crass note.

A spouse bera­tes your manhood, or womanhood.

And you go from You, The Cham­pion of the World to

You, less than.

You, squashed.

You, angry and off-balance.

You, the misfit.

You, the fuck up.

When you fall into this deep pit of treachery and des­pair, you need something to pull you out. An image, a word, a note. It helps when this object reflects both the love you have for your­self as well as the love someone has for you.

Like a pic­ture of you through your parent’s eyes.

Or a note from an impas­sio­ned rea­der who loved the piece that you loved to write.
Or a rock from a beach that was so beau­ti­ful you could swear that the sand was kis­sing your feet.

You, less than, is a lie.

Remem­ber who you are.

[Pamela Slim is an author and coach. You can find her at Escape From Cubicle Nation.]

[The “Remem­ber Who You Are” archive is here.]

[Down­load the high-res “Remem­ber Who You Are” pos­ter here.]

Comments

  1. Love this post. Thanks Pam/Hugh :)

  2. This came at exactly the right time. Thanks for this.…

  3. Wow, Pam. Why is that whe­ne­ver I get my most frus­tra­ted and stran­ded and lost, you’re there poin­ting the way? And nud­ging me a bit in the ass to get going.

    *mwah* You’re a trea­sure. Hugh’s cool, too.

  4. I’m sit­ting here very nearly speech­less and in tears. Trust me, it takes a lot for that to hap­pen when I’m in front of the com­pu­ter. Thank you — this is beau­ti­ful… and timeless.

  5. Gosh Pam, that gave me goo­se­bumps! Beau­ti­fully said — You are enough. Thank you! :)
    Tia @TiaSparkles

  6. Oh my god, Pam. The brought tears to my eyes. I some­ti­mes won­der if we have to go through such pain to embrace such total beauty and love. I hope not, but it seems that way sometimes.

  7. We always feel bet­ter when we look at our­sel­ves –and others– through the eyes of uncon­di­tio­nal love and acceptance.

    Great post!

  8. Wow. Wow. Wow. Count me as one brand new rea­der who loved this piece you must have loved to write because it’s so fully from the heart and soul, and of truths that will reso­nate with so many. Though it sucks when you’re stuck in the muck, those who get out bet­ter and brigh­ter can see the gifts in all that chaos. I often say to audien­ces, “We’re all bro­ken. Isn’t that great!?” Thanks for being so open and honest in sha­ring your bro­ken pie­ces and how you’ve put them back together to create the best, real you.

  9. Pam, This is such a per­so­nal, yet uni­ver­sal, story. You’ve given heart and soul to it, with this beau­ti­ful pic­ture of you in your vest, loo­king back at your father with such love. This remin­der is timely. I think I’ll go look for that spe­cial picture…I know just which one.
    Julie

  10. takes my breath away pam.
    echoes so much of my now. and what i’ve star­ted defen­ding more. oh to bottle up that les­son and give it to every 5yr old. tx @christinekane for twee­ting this post. thank you pam for wri­ting it and @gapingvoid for sha­ring it here.

  11. I was in my last crappy cor­po­rate job and allo­wing my boss to bully me. I of course did what any grown woman would do, ran to her mommy. She loo­ked right at me and said, “Remem­ber who you are.” It was one of those defi­ning life moments. I did remem­ber. Now that boss knows who I am too. And it’s not a woman who allows her­self to be bullied.

    Loved this post Pam and exce­llent use of the word fuck. ;-)

    xoxo

  12. Great great post.

  13. This was beau­ti­ful. I can’t wait to share it. It’s sad how the bad things stick around for too long and we for­get our true story. It’s easy to get lost in a mis­pla­ced cri­ti­cism. Thanks, Pam (and Hugh), for the reminder.

  14. Pam, that was awesome.

    That is all.

  15. I need such a rock. Wow. Now if I could only find it.

  16. Really moving Pam! You are my hero!

  17. Thank you sooo much ever­yone for your kind words! Now I am the one with tears. :)

    It is easy to for­get who we are, isn’t it? Even when we have been there all along. :)

    Thanks so much for invi­ting me to your blog Hugh, it is a great honor for me as a long-time fan of your work.

  18. Pam -

    Just when I think things are totally cliched & we are simply trying to reph­rase & rew­rite the same story you come across pure inspiration.

    Thank you for sha­ring pure art.

  19. Gosh. That overwhel­med me. Wow.

    Thanks.

  20. Pam, I’m sen­ding the five year old you, and the current you, a genuine hug. I was there, too. My dad left the same year. I was nine, a little older than you, but I would have pla­yed with you on the playground.

    Thanks for wri­ting this.

  21. Really!

    This is exactly why I had to leave one of the big­gest banks in Canada.

    I remem­be­red who I am.

    One line near the end, mixed with the photo at the top remin­ded me of “the crea­tive habit” by Twyla Tharp. She does an exer­cise with an old photo of her as a child.

  22. I love this post almost as much as I love you. I have always seen you for the World Cham­pion you are,bright-intelligent– beau­ti­ful and enga­ging.. and I am so proud to be your friend.

    Desi­ree

  23. Andrew Lightheart says:

    Well, there’s my early mor­ning cry over, anyway.

    Lovely, Pam.

    (that’s as long a com­ment as I wan­ted to leave, but the sys­tem tells me it was too short, so here’s some more text. *shoots a ‘seriously?’ look* )

  24. I little more of me has hea­led. Thank you Pam. Natalie

  25. Beau­ti­ful and so touching. Thank you for sha­ring something so per­so­nal yet we can all relate to it.

    Just added star­ted follo­wing you on Twit­ter. Thanks again

    Katie

  26. Andy Pels says:

    I have been trying for half an hour to write a fit­ting com­ment. I give up.

    I love the poetry and direct­ness of this, and I love you, Pam (you know how I mean).

    Andy

  27. Just beau­ti­ful, it’s so easy to look at this pic­ture and think how cute, what a crea­tive little girl. Thanks for filling in the ‘won­der what hap­pe­ned?” part… I laughed on the outside and inside my sto­mach cur­led up.

  28. Thank you Pam, we nee­ded this today — Dr. Rae for The Baum Group

  29. Wow Pam,

    This was truly mag­ni­fi­cent wri­ting. I have tears in my eyes.

    You are my heroine for always remin­ding me that “I am enough” and to go out there and just do it! (Wha­te­ver “it” may be).

    Hugs
    Elena

  30. love this pam. thank you, i really nee­ded this today. the more i get to know you the more you rock. best, amanda

  31. I’ve been known to print out par­ti­cu­larly moving and bri­lliant blog posts that I never want to for­get — but it doesn’t hap­pen all that often. I couldn’t hit “print” on this one fast enough. You know that fee­ling you get when you don’t just hear or read truth, but FEEL it on your skin and in your veins? That “coming home” fee­ling? This one gave me that, and it felt so very pea­ce­ful. Thank you, Pam.

  32. Damn, that is such a power­ful mes­sage and deli­ve­red in such a power­ful way too!

    Thanks Pam for wri­ting this. It cut through the heart and really spoke to me, and to many others obviously.

    Ama­zing wri­ting. Great to see you in that photo too! I can totally recog­nize that spunkiness!

    P.S. I also found mar­tial arts and self employ­ment… and booya!

  33. You. Pam Slim. More than, Amazing.

    WHAT a breath-taking post. Thank you… for being YOU.

  34. Abso­lu­tely stun­ning! Thank you.

  35. danielle says:

    very timely. just as i was going through a bout of ques­tio­ning who i am and my capa­bi­li­ties, hence worth… thks for the words, they strengthe­ned my inner man.

  36. Wow. Power­fully writ­ten. You con­ti­nue to blow me away with your con­nec­tion to truth. You are Pam and I am Diane and I’m in love with both. :) Damn, I’m in love with all of you! You’re all amazing!

  37. What a fabu­lous post, Pam. Thanks for remin­ding me who I am. Not less than, always enough, and just right — me.

  38. Remem­be­ring who I am actually led me to leave my father…or at least not follow him when he left us a cou­ple years ago. You would think that it wouldn’t hurt so much when you are all grown up, but it still does.

    Until recently, I thought I was dis­co­ve­ring who I was. Now I rea­lize that I am remem­be­ring who I am.

    Thank you for sha­ring this with us.

  39. pam and hugh! two of my fave peo­ple :)

    pam, thank you for this. this gets to the heart of the ina­de­qua­cies most of us have felt, or feel, from time to time. this exter­nal pres­sure and cri­ti­cism is des­truc­tive, but worse, it’s a false baro­me­ter of our worth. we are, all, inna­tely worthy. we are per­fect in our imperfection.

    rock on.

  40. Beau­ti­ful post.

  41. I like the proac­ti­ve­ness of this. Have a pic­ture ready, a rock, a let­ter.
    I have a note from my dad somewhere that says “I didn’t make junk.“
    Really nice, Pam, and I love the pic­ture too.

  42. Ama­zing and beau­ti­ful post. Says so much in so few words. Thank you.

  43. Pam, that was beau­ti­ful, and right on the mark for me right now.. How true it is that we for­get who we are !!
    Thank you for that

  44. Pam, this is both touching and power­ful. Thank you so much for sha­ring. I am not really sure how to con­ti­nue my day now — just feel… touched.

  45. This is awe­some, Pam. Thanks for wri­ting it!

    So cool to see so many peo­ple OBVIOUSLY grok­king it…

  46. What a great post! Makes me want to dig a little dee­per to where ‘me’ lives.

  47. Cir­cums­tan­ces can cause us to ques­tion who we are. Some­ti­mes that’s because events or peo­ple cons­pire to make us feel less than. Other times they demand things of us that we’re not used to.

    Say you’re a wri­ter, very dis­ci­pli­ned, and you spend a mini­mum of four hours a day holed up in your study, prac­ti­cing your craft.

    That’s exem­plary beha­vior for a writer.

    But wait. Let’s say you’re married now, with two kids under the age of three. Now it’s not so easy to get four hours a day to your­self. Now you have to decide bet­ween neglec­ting your family and neglec­ting your art.

    Either way, you feel like you must be less than. The irony is that you’re less than because you’re beco­ming more than. You’re trying to grow your­self to ful­fill life’s new demands.

  48. Oh. Pam, you moved me. I cried. How beau­ti­ful. Thank you (and Hugh too).

    You look exactly the same in that pic at 5 as you do now. x

  49. I love this piece you’re written.

  50. Such a great pic­ture! And such a great post. Pam rocks…

  51. ROAR!
    Are you coming out to play?

  52. I sup­pose we all need to hear this mes­sage, perhaps daily, but I am thank­ful to you for this post today because I have a friend who so des­pe­ra­tely needs to hear this. This friend’s spouse recently con­fron­ted with news of a lover and filed for divorce within days. They have two chil­dren, one of whom has Down Syndrome.

  53. Speech­less. And had very much nee­ded to read this mes­sage, right now.

    Impec­ca­ble timing, power­ful words.

    Thank you.

  54. Jason Terry says:

    Lovely. Thank you for your honesty and sha­ring. Lovely.

  55. thank you, Pam! won­der­ful and uni­ver­sal
    story. a great mes­sage for peo­ple who try to build and create their own lives
    based on who they really are. I love that phrase, “Escape from Cubicle Nation”. that is really good! :)

  56. Thanks for sha­ring this with all of us Pam, it is great wri­ting and a gift to ever­yone who gets to see it. I’m lucky because I met Derek Sivers in Lon­don UK and he hel­ped me show my new songs and poetry to the world. Den­nis Derby, peace and love!

  57. Thank you for making me cry, first thing in the mor­ning. I am married to someone who makes me daily feel less than. I’m not sure I ever saw that before.

  58. Very awe­some post. We too often let other peo­ple deter­mine our self worth.

  59. I am truly inspired…inspired to remem­ber things that unin­ten­tio­nally have been for­got­ten. Remin­ded that there were impor­tant moments that deserve to be remem­be­red, sto­red away with all the pain­ful memo­ries that seem to flood and over­come when childhood times pop into cons­cious­ness. Thanks Pam…

  60. Thank you.

    This hits home in so many ways, and is so help­ful. Thank you.

  61. Gabriella says:

    Direct. Wrenching. Loving. Thank you.

  62. Yes.

  63. Darrel Davis says:

    What a beau­ti­ful and per­fectly writ­ten piece. Thank you.

  64. “And you go from You, The Cham­pion of the World to You, less than.”

    Stun­ning. And heartbreaking.

    Thank you.

  65. Wow! What an honest, ins­pi­ring post. Thanks for sha­ring, and revea­ling what’s inside all of us.

  66. Thank you.

  67. Such a spe­cial gift you’ve sha­red — and a remin­der of how, in a split unplan­ned second, the world can be chan­ged — by ama­zing elo­quence! So glad I stum­bled upon your post — I will become a follo­wer. THANK YOU!

  68. Thank you for this post. It hit me hard, because, as a per­son who has spent a lot of years wri­ting adver­ti­sing, being taken down a few notches is a daily occu­rrence. Worse, I actually wor­ked for someone who LIKED taking me down a few notches. Every day. A few times a day. Anyhooo, I fina lly suf­fe­red a brain injury (for real)and remem­be­red who I am. It’s a cons­tant strug­gle and your post hel­ped. Thank you again.

    Jeff

  69. Pam,

    tears are welling up…you’re right, I need to find my remin­ders and keep them near by.

    Thank you for bra­vely sha­ring this piece.

  70. Pam, you are simply ama­zing. Thank you so much for sha­ring your amazing-ness with all of us!

    xoxo.

  71. Wow, does this reso­nate with my week. Thank you to a friend for direc­ting me toy your blog. After 30 plus suc­cess­ful years in my pro­fes­sion, my skills and talents as a desig­ner were ques­tio­ned by a poten­tial client. Thanks for a posi­tive refo­cus direc­ted to my most impor­tant cri­tic and fan — myself.

  72. LOVE LOVE LOVE this! This is the age it seems riiight before many of us begni to be squashed. We do an exer­cise where we have ever­yone think of objects/images they loved at this time period– 5 – 9 years.……it always seems to cause a huge ah– ha moment. We still love those things but have told our­sel­ves we can­not have them.
    Oh yes you can.
    You are ama­zing.
    Thank you Pam(:

  73. It’s so obvious, it some­ti­mes bears repea­ting. Posi­tive > nega­tive, always. Thanks :)

  74. Well writ­ten and much nee­ded in today’s world. Thank you!!

  75. Saw you over at Tippy Toe Diet.. this is ama­zing!!!!! Thank you!

  76. Thank you, what a fan­tas­tic remin­der! So nee­ded to hear that today!

  77. I love this, Pam! I stum­bled across an old pic­ture last year and had the same reve­la­tion! It is very life chan­ging to see your­self the way you were before everything else happened.

    I’m glad that I saw in my news feed on face­book that you had pos­ted this!

    Here’s mine if you wan­ted to take a peak:

    http://extraordinaryintheordinary.com/2009/07/the-mirror-has-two-faces/

  78. Diana Wanamaker says:

    Just what I nee­ded to hear! What a won­der­ful read! Didn’t know if I should cry or laugh. Straight from the heart to the heart.

  79. Beau­ti­ful. A gem of wis­dom. It’s so easy to get bea­ten down, so hard to remem­ber, some­ti­mes, who you are.

    Thanks for the reminder.

  80. Beau­ti­ful post. Thank you for this. I nee­ded it today.

  81. A friend on Face­book pos­ted a link to your piece. Beau­ti­ful. You are awesome!

  82. A client sent me to your post after a par­ti­cu­larly power­ful ses­sion. Quite a com­pli­ment, actually.

    The thing is — those trig­gers only hve the power to send you into the depths of des­pair if they con­nect to a belief you already have. Shift your beliefs and you unhook those triggers.

    Yes, having things/people/places that help you out of the des­pair pit (my sis­ter and my name for it) once you’re there, that’s really impor­tant. But if you don’t unhook those beliefs, the des­pair pit will always lurk like a trap just around the corner.

  83. Well said, Pam. Love your words and picture.

  84. Thank you. Thank you.

  85. Spot on for where I am at pre­sently, pretty much sucks, nee­ding that point of focus to who I am.

  86. Hugh sure knows how to pick his guest bloggers!

    Thank you for deftly put­ting into words what we all need to be remin­ded of — because we all go through it and lose our­sel­ves from time to time.

  87. Thank you Pamela. I am going to print this out, save it and read it often, so I don’t ever forget.

  88. Kathleen says:

    It took me years of therapy…to find “me”. I did make lots of pro­gress, however…It wasn’t until I found an old photo of me at 5 or 6 yrs. old, stan­ding so proud with my Brothers,..all smi­ling and loved…that I remem­be­red Who I was…Who I am. Thanks for put­tig it into words.

  89. beau­ti­ful.
    i am speech­less.
    thank you!

  90. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!

  91. Simply beau­ti­ful.

  92. A friend for­war­ded your post to me because of the simi­la­rity to one I wrote this week as well: Kin­der to a Stran­ger
    You have taken a little bit of a dif­fe­rent pers­pec­tive, but the mes­sage is abso­lu­tely the same. Love that cool photo of you in the slam­min’ vest and if we met, I’m sure I would love you too.

  93. Wow.…Perfect timing for a upco­ming visit with my folks.

  94. I was first drawn by the photo as a pho­to­grapher. Its a very good photo and when I look at it I see my own daugh­ter. Its my pra­yer that I’ll always give her the You: Cham­pion of the world.

  95. Thanks Pam!

    This is such a won­der­ful post! So many peo­ple let others define them and it can take so much work to undo the brain­washing. Thanks for wri­ting this and hel­ping peo­ple remem­ber who they really are.

  96. I think we all need to be remin­ded of who we are from time to time. Day to day life has a way of wea­ring us down and the stress of life can be overwhel­ming. Great post! Thank you!

  97. DR MIKE COX says:

    WOW WHAT AN AWESOME ARTICLE

    EVERYONE NEEDS A LITTLE HELP REMEMBERING

    THANKS PAM

  98. Shilpa says:

    That is so very true.Wonderful one!

  99. Andrew says:

    Too beau­ti­ful, too touching… this strong moti­va­ted suc­cess­ful 50-something alpha male is typing through tears to say thank you.

  100. Rea­ding this at 12 mid­night makes me want the mor­ning to arrive even fas­ter when I can take action and be me, more than! Thank you Pam.

  101. Pam,
    That is very power­ful. Thanks for sha­ring. In sha­ring so inti­ma­tely, your story pro­vo­kes iden­tity defi­ning memo­ries from childhood for all of us

  102. I have one pic­ture like that. I am pro­bably around the same age, come to think of it, or a tiny bit older. We were visi­ting a farm. The chil­dren were pla­ying “house” and I was dres­sed in a long dress and high heels. We deci­ded that we nee­ded a baby.

    Someone said, “Wouldn’t it be groovy if we could use one of the new baby pigs!” Yes. I remem­ber clearly that the word groovy was used. It was the 60’s!

    To this day I’ve never met a cha­llenge that I didn’t like so I stom­ped out to the pig yard, in my long dress and high heels and caught a “baby.”

    And that is “my picture.”

    After rea­ding Pam’s post and all of the com­ments I have a new found appre­cia­tion for the power of that image.

    Thanks for sha­ring and encou­ra­ging me to remember.

    http://successinthesuburbs.blogspot.com/2009/10/pigs-heels.html

  103. Wow…Pam…I don’t think I took a breath while I read this…This is such a poig­nant sha­ring of your life…how beau­ti­ful, how touching, ins­pi­ring and melo­dic. I felt so many emo­tions rea­ding your story…you say so much in such few words — very power­ful. The pho­to­graph of you is unforgettable…you look as I see you today — happy, con­fi­dent and empo­we­red. So life took you on a 360 degree journey…might have been pain­ful, but during that time, you were “collec­ting” all that you nee­ded, in order to be who are you today, to give to the world what it needs and what you so kindly offer. Thank you for that sharing…it is simply beautiful.

  104. Wow Pam. Your authen­ti­city pier­ced through to me & brought a tear down my eye (only 1 though because I’m in public rea­ding this right now).

    I relate with your expe­rience at the age that you were at, and can con­nect with the fee­ling you felt. Thanks for sha­ring your story & ins­pi­ra­tion Pam!

Trackbacks

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  12. […] point is when you tem­po­ra­rily for­get who you are, some­ti­mes a little bit of inap­pro­priate badass thin­king is just what you […]

  13. […] Slim (@pamslim) has a bee-oo-tee-full guest post at Gaping Void for Remem­ber Who You Are. And as much as I loved her post, something about the series nag­ged and nig­gled at the back of my […]

  14. […] If you only focus on big huge wins, then you miss the daily mirac­les of the work itself. Like for­mer clients who come from behind and fund their Kicks­tar­ter pro­jects with moments to spare. Or clients who work dili­gently to make a plan to leave their job and start a suc­cess­ful con­sul­ting prac­tice. Or even blog posts that make us feel proud to have writ­ten them. […]

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Testimonials

His work acknowledges the absurdity of workaday life, while also encouraging employees to respond with passion, creativity, and non-conformity...   MacLeod’s work is undeniably an improvement over the office schlock of yore. At its best, it’s more honest, and more cognizant of the entrepreneurial psyche, while still retaining some idealism.

The New Republic
Lydia Depillis

Last year my State of the College address was 76 slides loaded with data. This year it was 14 cartoons that were substantially more memorable.

Len Schlesinger
Former President, Babson College

"There are only two daily newsletters that I look forward to opening and reading every time they show up to my inbox: Seth Godin's and gapingvoid."

Tony Hsieh
CEO, Zappos

Hugh MacLeod is a genius.  Genius.

Seth Godin
Best Selling Author

In moments of indecision I glance at the wall [to Hugh's work] for guidance.

Brian Clark
@copyblogger
 
  • The New Republic
  • Len Schlesinger
  • Tony Hsieh
  • Seth Godin
  • Brian Clark
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