Origin Story of an Overachiever
The Pickle-Flavored Genesis of an Overachiever
(and Why We All Need a Little Compassion)
We all have that story, the one that, in retrospect, seems almost comical, yet shaped the very landscape of our inner world. Mine involves Barbies, a basement, an older girl with a penchant for pickles (seriously, the lasting impression!), and a childhood understanding of sin that would make a theologian weep. It’s the origin story of my overachieving tendencies, a tale of how a seemingly minor incident can become the bedrock of a lifelong pattern.
The Invisible Middle Child: A Quest for Visibility
Growing up as a middle child in a large family was a bit like being a misplaced sock in the laundry – occasionally forgotten, sometimes left behind at gas stations or state fairs (true story!), and once even locked in a bathroom for an embarrassingly long time.
Innocence Lost: A Childhood Moment of Confusion
In my small-town, predominantly religious upbringing, the world was divided into two camps: members and non-members. It was a simple binary system for a child’s mind. Then came the fateful day at age nine, when a friend’s older sister introduced us to a “game” in her basement. It was, in essence, a premature and inappropriate exploration of sexuality, likely stemming from the older sister’s own experience of abuse. While I was curious, the most vivid memory is the distinct taste of pickles and the vague sense that she needed a bath. (Hey, childhood memories are weird.)
Now, here’s where my perfectly crafted “good girl” identity took a hit. I knew it was “naughty.” I’d been taught about the sanctity of the body. But there I was, caught between the allure of an older kid’s attention, a lack of communication skills, and that pesky childhood curiosity. So, I played along.
The Weight of Perceived Sin: A Burden Too Heavy for a Child
Leaving that house, a churning in my gut began. As a newly baptized member of my church, I believed I’d reached the “age of accountability.” I had a warped understanding of a scripture from the LDS cannon about receiving “greater condemnation” for sinning against a greater light (Doctrine and Covenants 82:3). In my nine-year-old brain, this translated to: “I knew it was wrong, therefore, I’m beyond redemption.” Everyone else got the weekly “sin-washing” at church; I was permanently stained. (Talk about a heavy burden for a little kid!)
Perfection as Penance: My Overachiever's Path
Thus began my quest for perfection. I vowed to Jesus that I’d never mess up again. Good grades? Check. Church volunteering? Check. Early graduation, doctorate, six kids (plus one for someone else that didn't have ovaries!), homeschooling, a bread business run by my children (who, bless their hearts, made and delivered fresh bread), homemade everything from sprouted lentils to kombucha? Check, check, check! By the time my fifth baby arrived, my adrenal glands were staging a full-blown rebellion. But did I stop? Nope. Two more babies later, and I was a walking testament to the perils of overachievement.
Unraveling the Trauma: Compassion for the Inner Child
My point is, everyone carries their own version of trauma, often manifesting in unexpected ways. Mine stemmed from a seemingly innocuous, even slightly humorous incident (pickle-flavored memories aside). It led to years of anguish, though. It wasn’t until I was married and in graduate school that I finally confessed to my bishop. I braced myself for discipline, but he simply looked at me with pity and a touch of humor, probably relieved it wasn't a real scandal.
My story, in the grand scheme of things, is relatively tame. But it illustrates a crucial point: trauma can wear the most incognito masks. It can hide behind good grades, homemade bread, and an unwavering commitment to perfection. Recognizing these patterns, extending compassion to ourselves for the ingenious ways we’ve adapted, and embracing the beautiful resilience we’ve shown is, I believe, the best way to navigate this wild and wonderful journey we call life.