Goodbye Eeyore, Hello Tigger

Granny was churchy. She grew up in an era that saw living by the Bible as an important British character trait. Like wanting God to Save the King or being a Jolly Good Egg. One went to church and had a nice hat.

I also think her DNA may have been entirely constructed of proverbs, mostly of the make do and mend variety. Pride always came before a fall; we never put all our eggs in one basket; and I still can’t bring myself to cast a clout until May is out.

And when she wasn’t talking in weird catchphrases, she was spouting Bible verses, because, you know, her grandchildren were going to be the type of little sunbeam that Jesus wanted or else.

So I was sent to Sunday School from about age four, and then routinely indoctrinated on the correct behaviour from instructional tracts in American pamphlets. Granny helpfully read these out to me, warning of the dangers of being greedy, selfish, lazy, rude, or – the pinnacle of sins – big-headed. The message was that God, my parents, and the world would all loathe and despise me unless I got my act together pretty fast.

Which is some heavy shit for a four-year-old.

And it didn’t stop there. Add to that the fact I’m British – and will automatically apologise to anyone who pushes me out of the way or slams a door in my face – and you’ll get some hint of the levels of self-imposed humility and crippling self-doubt I then embraced for much of my life.

But you know what? I got bored witless thinking I had some impossible hill to climb before I was worth even a humble-brag. And I was miserable.

And so, as we say in Blighty, I got all Sod that for a game of conkers (yes, I know it makes no sense, but work with me here. You get the gist of the saying, right?).

And I unlocked my inner arrogance – something that was just about me, not about others, and most decidedly not about myself in relation to others (finally – an ending to comparing!).

Now, I say arrogance (rather than confidence, or self-assurance, or whatever) because I think an inflated sense of self-worth is pretty cool after all those years of being at the other end of the scale. It’s not about putting others down, it’s about putting myself high, high up for a change. Way higher than I might deserve, probably, but I’m not sorry and I don’t give a monkey’s.

Nowadays I assume everything I’m doing is awesomely brilliant – until I’m told otherwise. And I’m perfectly happy with that.

Because once I get that feedback, I simply readjust what I’m doing into other stuff that I also think is awesomely brilliant. And so on. Lots of different behaviours, plenty of mistakes, gazillions of learning-curves, the only common factor being I think I’m fabulous all the way through.

An unexpected benefit of this (apart from life becoming hella more fun) is that I don’t waste time beating myself up for not having been good enough, or not having known better, or any of that rubbish. Instead, my energy gets used finding the hidden gems in the feedback, and enriching my skills by embracing them.

Granny is probably sitting on her cloud, anxiously bracing herself for my fall by hotly denying I am anything to do with her, insisting I was probably adopted, and fake-weeping all over her harp.

But guess what, Granny? Falling is fine: you just get up again. And I’m basically Tigger now. I bounce.