You know how when people tell you that you are really awesome – and you like kind of start believing it?

Yeah, about that.

So I thought I’d go ahead and grace the Journalism school at UNC-Chapel Hill with my awesomeness.   I applied way back  in November.

Yesterday, I got rejected. Oh.My.God. Are you serious? Okay, I am not particularly prideful as a rule. But…hello? I’m applying to finish my degree for a job I’ve been doing successfully for oh, I dunno, the past 7 years!

My essay was solid. Like leave you crying and inspired at the same time solid. I mean, really, Pulitzer-esque genius.

My 3.97 college GPA must not have been high enough above the curve either.

Pfft. But I’m not angry. I’m actually just really embarrassed. It’s like Obama going back to Chicago and applying to be a Community Organizer again and them saying “Naw, we’re not sure you’re qualified”.

Okay, maybe it’s a tad pretentious to include myself in the ranks of our nation’s President. But, it’s better than facing the reality that *maybe* I really wasn’t good enough.

So last night I cried. A lot. I don’t cry often. Thanks Zoloft for effectively turning me into a zombie, or a man, take your pick.

But boy did I bawl. I probably even lost a bit of water weight.

There I was, bathing Peter, sobbing like I’ve just lost my kitten when this happened.

P: “Mommy, you are crying your eyes.”
M: “Yes P, it’s okay, Mommy is just sad because the Mommy school told me that I can’t come.”
P: “What happened, Mommy.”
M: “I don’t know, sweetheart. They just told me no.”
***Thoughtful Pause***
P: “Mommy, are you stupid?”
M: “Maybe, a little bit.”

OMFG, I cried so hard after that. But in the morning light, that exchange is classically hysterical. Though I have no idea where he learned the word stupid – and by the way – Daddy did intervene and tell him that we don’t use that word and that Mommy is very smart. Cause we’re not totally horrible parents, I mean, at least he’s not.

The thing about all of this is that going back to school felt like my only ticket to reclaiming my identity – Debby Torres, PR guru extraordinaire.

So last night, it felt like the iron curtain of reality had fallen and I saw my professional career disappear.

I used the “feeling” words because my therapist says it’s important to distinguish between feelings and reality.

***See UNC, I CAN be taught!***

I guess in those first few hours post rejection I honestly believed that a piece of paper could somehow shape who I am.

But I control how I am defined, damnit. If I don’t have control of anything else (and many days it seems that way) I can at least control who I am. I refuse to relinquish that.

There’s no huge epiphany here. I’m still disappointed. I still hope I get a letter in the mail that says “Oops, our bad!”

But I have a bit more perspective than I did 18 hours ago. It’s a speedbump compared to what I’ve accomplished/survived. I will not slow down. I can’t. There’s too much momentum behind me to succeed. Maybe not down this path, but another.

In the meantime, I think I might go buy myself a Duke t-shirt and trot down Franklin street.

Or not.

When I was a child the only thing I wanted in the world was the be the perfect daughter.

When I was an adolescent the only thing I wanted was to be the perfect friend.

In college the only thing I wanted was to be the perfect girl.

In marriage the only thing I wanted was to be the perfect wife.

It’s not surprising that I found myself in a career that required me to make everything “appear” perfect.

Because ultimately, appearance is what perfection is about.

Here’s one thing I know about perfection.  It’s lonely.  It’s a brutal game to play with yourself (and your loved ones) to spend every minute of every day striving to obtain the impossible.

No matter how good you are, you can always be better.  No matter what you achieve you can always do more.

And no matter how contrived and planned you try to make life, ultimately, it’s not in your control.

I can’t be smart enough, beautiful enough, thin enough, successful enough, loved enough to protect myself from circumstance.

Seventeen years of living with an eating disorder.  Seventeen years of mornings and afternoons on the scale – seeking that happy place where I’m just what I should be.  Seventeen years of never being quite good enough not to hate myself.

That’s seventeen years too long.

I’m not thin.  My home is never immaculate.  I can’t cook to save myself.  I sometimes ignore my friends and isolate myself.  I sometimes don’t do the best work I can.  I am over-committed and under-stimulated.  I ruminate on things that happened years and years ago, thinking about how it could’ve been different “if only”.

I could go on.  But that would be me trying to be perfect at self-deprecation and frankly, that’s just messed up.

What matters – the ONLY thing that matters – is that there is a child who idolizes me.  Not because I am thin, or smart, or  even remotely awesome at anything – but simply because I am Mommy.

How perfect is that?

I was born with an innate sense of empathy and desire for equality.  My Daddy and I used to buy up all of the stuffed animals that looked sad or were broken at the store – to give them a loving home.  Stray animals instinctively knew our home was a safe haven.  I went to nursing homes to give out flowers and visit with my mom routinely.  It was just how we did things.

I didn’t realize until much later in life that not everyone was fortunate enough to have these childhood experiences.  Looking back, I can clearly see the integral role they played in preparing me to be the person I am today.

It’s Autism Awareness day and I’ve been thinking all day what exactly that meant to me.  Sometimes I feel like there is plenty of awareness and not enough movement.  That it should really be called “Autism Action Day”.  Sometimes I feel like I just want to forget for a day and have an “Autism UnAwareness Day” like everyone else does the rest of the year.

Mostly though I feel that knowing isn’t being aware.  I’m not asking the world to champion my cause.  There are a lot of equally important causes, and truthfully, unless something touches you personally – I understand that it’s difficult to really rally behind it.  I know why I am motivated.  I know why we should all be motivated, but I understand the ambiguity -  I was there 3 years ago – it’s not your child, sibling, student, grandson, nephew, friend.

You don’t have to devote your life to Autism awareness.  You just have to be human.  You just have to respect that different is not bad.  You just have to be a little bit patient and a lot less judgmental.

You just need to know that my son is valuable.

My son is valuable.

He has gifts – just like your child.  He has desires and dreams and limitless potential – just like your child.  He has rights.

My son has rights.

He has struggles, yes.  So do I, and so do you.  All humans have struggles.

Please don’t pass judgment on him.  Don’t sell him short.  Don’t you dare lower that bar.  Because he can, and he will be anything and everything he wants to be.  Because we believe in him, we support him, and we will fight for his rights with every breathe we take.

Don’t count him out.  We’re just getting started here.