This Audio Diary Entry talks about
How getting into G.A.T.E. (Gifted and Talented Education) altered the trajectory of my life & solidified my career path at eight years old
Challenges & self-doubt in pursuing writing
How regular writing (in any & all formats) keeps me sane
Transcript
In third grade, I got accepted to G.A.T.E., which stands for Gifted and Talented Education. It was up to your parents to fill out an application for this special program that provided out-of-the-box learning opportunities for exceptional students. My brother was in G.A.T.E., and that was no surprise, because he was at the top of every class. But when I came of age, my mom hadn’t even considered me a candidate. I was a slow beginner with reading, and pretty much unextraordinary all across the board. But my mom really advocated for us as kids, that we got the best teachers, and she kept tabs on what we were learning, and how we were being treated—she was a hands-on mom, to her credit. I had a friend whose dad was the P.E. (the physical education) teacher, and he asked her, “Why isn’t elyse trying out for G.A.T.E.?” I always found it humiliating growing up hearing my mom tell this story, emphasizing how the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind that little elyse could make it into the program. But on the day of the exam, which consisted of written and then question/answer portions, you had to act out in front of the teacher, Ms. Badalucco sat across from me with kind eyes and asked me one question after another. I remember having to pretend I was drinking a glass of water. I was a sensitive kid, uh, what people always mistakenly labeled “shy,” so I didn’t do as well under the pressure of tests, especially if I was expected to perform for an adult I’d just met. I don’t remember leaving that room on high. I don’t know if I was aware of how low my mom’s expectations of me were, but I don’t remember feeling confident or especially supported. And for whatever reason, Ms. Badalucco saw something in me. Apparently, when my test results came back, I was below average in the math and sciences, but off the charts creatively. How she extracted that gem of talent from my quiet, self-conscious Self is still beyond me, but getting accepted into G.A.T.E. was the lead domino in what’s been a lifelong becoming. My G.A.T.E. class was a small group of my best friends, super tight-knit, and we got to do really cool things like mummifying a Cornish hen in the sandbox to constructing a catapult . . . I papier-machéd a life-size alligator and built a castle out of oatmeal boxes. I learned more about what would become my career in G.A.T.E. than in all my other traditional education classes, combined. But the thing that changed the trajectory of my life forever was when Ms. Badalucco handed out a homework assignment—a sheet of wacky questions, each with a handful of lines underneath to let our imaginations run wild with whatever outlandish, funny, creative ideas came to mind. You wake up, and pigs are literally flying! What do you do? I went to town, thinking faster than my hands could write, filling the lines, overflowing up the sides, drawing an arrow and flipping over to use the blank back page. It was like a switch flipped on inside me, the damn loosed. I found my thing. It was that clear, even as an eight-year-old third grader. I knew then, I would be – not wanted to be – not dreamt of being – I would be, and already was, a writer.
Then life happened! [chuckles] You know how it goes.
It’s pretty heartbreaking to think back on the hordes of messaging you absorb over a lifetime, especially negative programming specifically about something you inherently know, as a soul, you are meant to do. That builds up inside, and the clear pulse you felt so strongly in the purity of youth can get cloudy and confused. Compound that with toxic beauty ideals, comparison instilled by grades and standardized testing, and small thinking that gets projected on you again & again by those in your closest circles. Before you know it, you may be utterly bogged down, [chuckle-sigh] convinced that what once seemed meant to be is now impossible.
Maybe, with a deep connection to Self, a desire for meaning, unwaveringly supportive influences (these can be few and far between, but soooo precious when it happens) and a love, a passion, a magnetic pull to something that simply can’t be extinguished no matter how much life gets you down—maybe you keep at it, and continue tweaking & honing . . . you forgive the flops, release the self-criticism, just enough, to do the thing.
That’s where I am today.
But it’s scary [chuckles] and stressful as hell at times, a lot of the time! I have days where I’m leaden with fear, and overwhelm—I don’t feel like I’m smart or savvy enough to do this. Like, will I ever really break through to the point where I’ve achieved a level of success that supports my life? Where I feel like writing loves me back as much as I love it? I get embarrassed thinking of how much time I’ve wasted being stuck in my head about this stuff.
As a result [exhale]: One of my recurring self-care slips is not writing.
It’s just too easy to talk myself out of it because there are always, always, physical life demands that need doing. And I’m someone who has designed my life to do this work! I’m a cat mom living in a small house the same square footage as the one-bedroom apartment we last lived in. I’m in a modern partnership with a man who does his own laundry, and meals are as flexible as taffy. I live a simple life. And yet that hasn’t stopped me [chuckles] from creating a landscape on this property that requires constant tending. Having hundreds of plants calling for constant care. And I fall victim to distraction constantly. I lay out solid plans, then get tugged this way and that because so-and-so said “Do it this way!” or they’ve got over 200k followers. I mentally spin in circles thinking and rethinking how to go about this because what they’re doing must be better, because they’ve got the numbers to prove it! While I’m wasting all this time rearranging my strategy, I’m not writing, or posting, or staying consistent with the basic things I need to be doing to be in this fucking game. It’s an infuriating loop.
When I direct my energy to all this other shit, and I don’t write, my mind goes fucked. I start to obsess over minutia—the tiniest, insignificant nothings consume me. I get angsty and negative—any little thing sets me off. I’m someone who is meant to create. My deepest, most aligned, and natural flow state occurs with writing. And I’ve known this for 30 years! BUT, I still have more times than I’d like to admit where I get swept up, jumbling priorities and losing sight of how essential it is to my life force to make time for this thing that is my thing.
I’m not even talking about a singular kind of writing. We are really fortunate to live in an age where, as writers, we exercise our skill & talent in many formats. Emails count. Social media posts count. Blog posts count. Book writing, article writing, podcast scripting . . . we engage with so many forms of writing that strengthen us and essentially, exorcise our demons so we don’t lose it! Even simpler—jotting in a journal. I have a practice called Nasty Poetry, which I’ll link in this post, where I spew emotional sludge to cleanse heaviness from my heart. It’s not good poetry. And that’s not the point. It’s simply about letting what builds up, out. Expressing myself freely, unhindered by internal dialogue or external judgment. I have to exercise my mind regularly with writing so I don’t lose my fuck-ing mind. [chuckles]
And I have you to thank for being part of my motivation to show up for that. I feel really thankful to be at a place where, at the core, I show up for this work for me, because it’s a calling. It is the major healing force in my life. But knowing there are other people on the other side, having their own experience—that this may be feeding your mission or creativity, in some way, that solidifies my determination and helps me show up for it even more. I’ve actually experienced that more in Substack than I have anywhere else for over a decade of writing full-time. So, thank you for that.
And thanks for listening. I’ll be posting one more episode in this SELF-CARE SLIPS series before starting a new one. I am taking requests. As always, take care. Rest well. #DoYou. And follow your happy. ~ e OUT.
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