The Way You Wear Your Face

by Giselle Renarde

A teacher once said to my mother, "There's steel in that girl."

At the time, she was right. Still, I fought back tears when my mother told me. I couldn't decide whether I should be proud. I knew it was true, but was it really so obvious?

The neighbourhood I grew up in was and is very different from the place I live now. Earlier today I was walking down the street and asking myself, "What would be the perfect soundtrack to give this area?" The first song that popped into my head was Pleasant Valley Sunday.

I'm trying to think of the perfect song to accompany the area I grew up in. It would be whatever music scares you shitless, really. Or just the sound of music through apartment walls and people screaming, and then a big crash and you sweating bullets and thinking, "Fuck, should I call the police?"

But of course you shouldn't because it's none of your damn business.

I can't pinpoint any event or moment that turned young Giselle into steel. It was home life coupled with where home was. My mom still lives in that same house, and when I tell people the intersection their eyes widen and they go, "Why?" or "Wow" or just "Yikes." Because why would anyone choose to live in such an unsavoury area?

That's a question I can't answer. I left as soon as I could. I left the steel there, too.

This came to mind the other week, when I was watching So You Think You Can Dance. There was a young woman on the show who had that same steel in her. She came from a rough neighbourhood, too. She faced addiction in her family.

I saw my old self in the way she wore her face: hard, inaccessible, a brick wall of a face. A face you don't want to mess with.

That was me, guys! That was me until I moved to a neighbourhood where I can walk around any time, day or night, and not be afraid. Sure it's weird, being poor and living in an incredibly affluent neighbourhood. I'm surrounded by ego and entitlement and it gets to me sometimes, but at the end of the day entitlement isn't going to steal your jewellery from around your neck or spray bullets from a car window.

Man, it feels good to not be afraid of the place you live. I'm practically Pollyanna when I'm out in the world. I talk to strangers! I smile at everybody! I love them all! Mwah-Mwah! Kisses all 'round!

And then I take the bus back to the neighbourhood where I grew up. Suddenly the smile in my eyes feels embarrassing. It makes me vulnerable. So I shut it down. I lock Pollyanna and her Pleasant Valley Sunday in the basement until I'm back at home base. Because I don't want to be targetted. I don't want to be picked out of the lineup. That one smiling face sticks out, on the bus to my mom's house.

But I feel odd about it. I love the compassionate me. She's my favourite kind of me! I want to share her with the people who live where I used to live. They're sort of like family, in a way.

I try, but I feel uneasy. The world I grew up in seems so predatory, so violent, so ready to take you down.

Out comes the steel, but I put it on like a mask now. It's not coming from the inside out. I'm wearing it so I'll blend in.

Sometimes I feel Pollyanna kicking and screaming, but I make her wear that mask. It's for her own good.

Yes Woman

By Lisabet Sarai

Our Grip topic for the next fortnight is “Weaknesses”. Now, there are a lot of ways one can interpret this (like most of our topics), but as is often the case, I’ll consider the most obvious: personal weaknesses, bad habits or character flaws.

Of course I have many—don’t we all?—but there’s one that seems to have become all too prominent recently. I have a low tolerance for stress, particularly stress induced by over-commitment. I absolutely hate the feeling of pressure that comes from having too many tasks to complete in what seems like too little time. I’ve been known to throw literal tantrums when faced with apparently impossible deadlines, screaming, crying, banging my fists on the table, tearing at my hair, hitting my head against the wall... Really, I’m not exaggerating. Fortunately, I don’t go to these extremes too often, but I’ve given myself sore throats and lumps on the skull in the past after allowing my panic to gain ascendancy. My poor husband (who’s much better at coping with stress than I am) tries to help, but I know he’s wondering just how his intelligent, competent partner suddenly became a shrieking madwoman.

I think I’ve always had this weakness, even as a kid. I’ve attempted to compensate by starting assignments early and planning my time well in advance. Through four years of college and four of graduate school, I never once did an “all-nighter”, nor did I ever turn in an assignment late. This wasn’t a reflection of virtue, but rather, of terror at the way I knew I’d react if I wasn’t on top of all my work.

The strategies I’ve employed throughout my life still function reasonably well. These days I have tasks in so many different realms—teaching, research, consulting, writing, editing, reviewing, marketing, and more. If I didn’t have a detailed to-do list, and a pretty clear vision of when I was going to tackle what, I’d drive myself (and my DH) crazy. I also try to set priorities. Marketing always comes last, for example. That’s partly because I know that no matter how much I do, it won’t make much difference!

Unfortunately, I have another weakness that tends to exacerbate the first: I can’t say no. When someone asks if I will take on some task or project, my first inclination is almost always to agree. Indeed, when I see the need for some work, I’m perpetually tempted to volunteer my time and effort—even if nobody has asked. I want to be helpful, especially in cases where I think a task is important. And I know, honestly, that I can do a better job than many other people who might agree, half-heartedly, to take on some work. Furthermore, exactly because I’m so terrified about not fulfilling my commitments, I know that I, at least, will get it done...somehow.

Like most weaknesses, this one’s a problem only when it manifests to excess. I believe that, in moderation, my willingness to make commitments is a desirable trait. (I see far too many people who expect that someone else will be responsible for solving all their problems.) My concern about following through is also a positive trait. There are few things worse than depending on someone else to get something important done, then having them drop the ball.

However, I’ve learned that I need to sit on myself, to refrain from raising my hand, to avoid putting myself in a position where I’ll have another tantrum. I need to remind myself that I have a finite number of hours in the day and also that my relationship with my DH is more important than any task that might beckon. When I go ballistic, as I’ve described above, it hurts him. I really don’t want to do that.

This week, I’ve already squelched a bunch of ambitious plans I was thinking about proposing: editing a new Coming Together book, offering a crit of a new author friend’s story, creating a set of trailers for all my books so that I can build a You Tube channel... The list goes on. My to-do list looks more manageable today than it usually does. I have to remind myself that’s not an excuse to take on more work.

Still, I’m so very tempted by that latest call for submission...

No. No. No, no, no.

That’s so difficult for me to say.