Gold Star Dependent

My parents gifted me pearls for my college graduation.

Beautiful and elegant, pearls often mark momentous occasions for Southern women. There was only one problem though- I hate pearls. While some women could make wearing pearls seem effortless, or even trendy, they made me feel like I was playing dress up- acting out a role that never really fit.

Growing up, I’d been a people pleaser- the straight A student, the teacher’s pet, the kid deemed “mature for their age.” Oftentimes my life felt chaotic and I had learned it was easier to placate those around me than create waves. And nothing placated adults quite like “being the best.” With every gold star, or ribbon, or accomplishment I earned, I was showered with praise. So much so that eventually being an overachiever became my de facto personality.

That is until the summer of 2006 when I studied abroad in Italy. Thousands of miles away from most everyone who knew me, my true self began to emerge. I began recognizing all of the compromises I’d made in order to live up to others expectations. How often I sacrificed my own happiness and wants, in order to do what seemed right, or smart, or mature. How often I adopted other people's opinions simply because I mistakenly believed they knew better than me. At first I was ticked off. Infuriated with myself for not seeing it sooner. For not fighting back more.

But then I wouldn’t have been me, right? Without the pressure and discomfort, without the growth and self reflection, I never would have made it to that moment of clarity.

It was this thought that crossed my mind a full year later as I was looking at those pearls. How a random speck, something not part of the plan, had been transformed into something so beautiful. How it happened time and time again to create enough pearls to even form this necklace. And more importantly, just how similar that felt to my own story and transformation.
Of course I didn’t say any of that when I opened the gift because that may have made me sound crazy, or worse, have been misconstrued as ingratitude, so I simply said “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”