“A significant part of our adolescence, teens, and twenties is about finding our identity. Figuring out how we fit into the world, what mold we fill. You say you have to seem put-together for Brock. Have you always struggled to feel like you fit in, or felt like you had to work to meet the expectations of others?”
Cheryl really wasn’t holding back with her questions this time.
I gathered my resolve.Honesty, I reminded myself.That’s what this is all about.
“Yes. I think sometimes I... made myself small for my parents. I didn’t want to add any stress to their plates. They were so busy already. I focused on getting good grades, being an athlete, that kind of thing. The model daughter.”
She jotted a note.
“And what about your friend group as a child?”
“I grew up with a group of neighborhood boys. I was the only girl. There wasn’t anyone to play dolls with or have tea parties with, even though I liked those kinds of things. So I adapted... I kind of took on their interests, learned to play different sports and laugh at their humor, things like that. There was this one boy—Jace—who quite literally sidelined me. He claimed as a girl, I needed to stand on the sidelines and cheer while the boys played sports. I stood up for myself for the most part, but yeah, I think some of those early events might’ve damaged my self-esteem. Made me feel like I had something to prove.”
“That’s really great that you can reflect on that, Brooke,” Cheryl encouraged. “Let’s continue thinking this through together. Let’s talk about college. What kind of changes did you make when you moved away from home?”
“That was really my time to reinvent myself, but—I might’ve gone too far the other way. Joined a sorority, got really into makeup and hair and things like that. It was all sort of a performance. I’m not sure it was really me.”
Cheryl nodded sagely.
“Would you say your relationship with Brock is a bit of a performance?”
Oof.I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and whispered a hesitant, “Yes.”
“And do you try to make yourself small for him as well? Try not to inconvenience him? Change your habits or routines to fit with his?”
I nodded. I wondered if my cheeks were burning with shame.
“I want to go back to something we talked about a couple weeks ago, if that’s alright with you.”
She flipped back a couple pages in her notepad. She met my eyes and saw my silent assent.
“We talked about your parents not fighting in front of you and your brother. How surprised you were by their divorce.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, wondering where she was going with this.
“It sounds like your parents wanted to shield you and your brother from their problems. I think they meant well in doing so, but maybe were a bit misguided. You see, you didn’t grow up seeing arguments, but your parents also weren’t modeling how to resolve conflicts. I want you to consider if that could play a role in why you avoid conflict with your fiancé.”
I gave a slow nod, mentally digesting this new suggestion.
Cheryl continued. “Have you ever had anyone outside your family that you had conflicts with? And worked through them?”
I thought for a moment. “Whit and I don’t really butt heads. We are kind of on the same wavelength about most things. But I guess... Cade.”
“Cade?” She wrote the name on her pad.
“My childhood neighbor and best friend. We were friends a long time—ten years. We lived right next door until I was about 16, and we went to school together from 3rd through 12th grades.”
“I see. And is he still in your life?” she queried.
“I saw him recently, at our five-year reunion. And he just wrote me a letter.” I glanced toward my bag, eyes burning a hole in it as if I could see the letter through it.
“What kinds of conflicts did you and Cade have?”
“Nothing major, most of the time. Sometimes I think he enjoyed riling me up,” I reflected with a chuckle. “He wouldn’t let me get down on myself when I was feeling overwhelmed with volleyball or my classes. He was always pushing me to have more confidence in myself.”
“Sounds like a good friend.”
“Mm,” I replied noncommittally.
