Standing up for yourself doesn’t have to mean standing on someone else

I’m unsure I should put this in writing but….I think I’m getting wiser. I know, right? Heady stuff. 

During my childhood I was taught that my opinion didn’t count and that if something went wrong, well, what had I done to cause the problem?  

I’ve felt stuck in the childish reaction of self-defence. It wasn’t me! They started it! They’re a horrible person! Yeah, that worked really well for me.  So I’ve vowed to do things differently. But how? How? How? 

Here’s an example. I’ve taken up rowing. I did a short course of three lessons and since then I’ve been rowing on seven occasions. So I’m not quite at Olympic level yet. It’s an all-women club. Don’t let that fool you though. We’re there to row not knit scarves – though I’m told we have some very capable bakers. 

A couple of Saturdays ago I went rowing. It was a coxed, sweep boat. For the uninitiated, the cox controls the boat and gives the instructions. There were four rowers and the ‘sweep’ part means we each had one oar. Sweet. The cox was an experienced rower and was there to provide coaching as well as ensure we didn’t hit anything and that we got back to land. No, that wasn’t a joke. Landing a rowing boat can be the most challenging part.  

Now, I may not be the best rower in the crew, I am, however, very observant. I watch what people are doing and judge, yes judge, whether they are to be trusted or not. This also stems from my childhood. Oh, no easy ride for anyone. Your title means squat to me. Your years of experience? Diddly also – unless I see it for myself. In fact, if you tell me you’re awesome at something because you’ve been doing it for so long, you lose ground fast. You can make it up by demonstrating your awesomeness. If you don’t. Sorry, you slide further down the food chain. 

So….there were two boats already at the pontoon. No room for ours. No biggie. There was another pontoon five metres away. Except….she told us to take the boat out to the already full pontoon. She stood there, perplexed as we stood there, holding a 'somewhat' heavy boat, and then finally decided perhaps we needed to go to the next one. Not an auspicious start.  

When we did get on the water she talked, and talked, and talked. The whole time. Constant chatter about how we needed to focus. You think? I admit it. I was irked. And not only irked, I felt my anger rising. Fortunately I was a few people back so she may not have heard all the whispered swear words that leaked, okay, burst from my mouth. And there were mini-lectures. Little speeches on the evils of the errors we were making. These were repeated….many times. I went home entirely dissatisfied with the experience.  

Last night I went rowing again. There were only four of us. I couldn’t sidle to the edge of the crowd and disappear, but oh how I wished I could. As we warmed up, one of the more experienced rowers gave me some tips. The cox agreed that this woman would sit behind me and coach me. Oh heady stuff! I was excited!  

But when we got on the water, the cox started barking at me. The woman behind was also coaching and I was overwhelmed – and annoyed. And sin of sins (one is not supposed to talk to the cox), I suggested perhaps only one person coaching might be useful. What I actually meant was – be quiet we’re doing okay by ourselves back here. You’re just confusing things. We rowed on. 

The cox decided that I needed more attention. She commented on everything I did. Everything. The woman behind me would whisper single words, “Posture”, “Slow”, and I would immediately know what I had lapsed in doing. The cox gave long soliloquys on the evils of my rowing style and how I was singlehandedly going to ensure we all ended up in the water.  Then she started telling me to do things that didn’t make sense. My oars were in the water when they should have been out of it and out of it when they should have been in it. It was awful. But the barrage kept coming. Until I finally lost it. I stopped rowing – another sin – and told her that she wasn’t helping. She responded by telling me that she’d been rowing for six years but hey, what would she know. Indeed. 

Still, she let us row without comment for about a minute and I think we did pretty damned good. Then she wouldn’t let me row any more. Again, it was horrible. 

I went home and lamented that I probably wouldn’t be rowing again. After all, this was my fault right? I somehow brought it all on myself and I was a bad and horrible person and everyone hate me. Or conversely, she was a bad and horrible person and everyone should hate her.  The two extremes with nothing in the middle. 

I fretted. I want to learn how to row. Granted I’m unsure I’ll have a huge amount of time to devote to it, still, it’s a sport I’d like to master. Maybe one day I’ll buy a single scull. So I polished up my princess tiara and called the club.  

Sorry, you’ve had to wade through the background to get here, but this is the best bit – for me anyway. I rang and left a message. The co-ordinator called me back. I admitted I didn’t know quite what to say, but that I had been rowing the night before and I…er…hadn’t enjoyed it, mainly because I don’t really learn well the way the cox was teaching. The woman immediately replied, “Was the Cox Gillian?” (Name changed). My first thought was, she’s complained about me. Still, I breathed deeply and remained mature. I agreed it was.

The co-ordinator was understanding, explaining that Gillian’s coaching style was not everyone’s cup of tea and that others had had my same experience. She added that they were reviewing the coaches. I admitted that I had felt frustrated and that I realised Gillian was only trying to help. The co-ordinator invited me back, assuring me they’d find someone more suitable.  

The thing I want to share is this: So often we’re frightened to stand up for ourselves because we feel we should have handled a situation better or that we’ve contributed to a negative outcome. So what? We’re human. I know. I know. If you’re like me and were brought up to invalidate your self-worth this is a tough call.  In the past I’ve felt that the only way to defend myself is to attack.  

Gillian isn’t a horrible person. She gives up her time to volunteer to help people learn how to row. We just have very different styles of interaction. That’s the way life is sometimes. No one to blame. No one to hate. Just a simple acceptance of facts we can work around.  

If you find yourself in similar situations and feel your defences rising, here’s my suggestions, garnered over far too many decades: 

Take yourself out of the situation – rather than confront Gillian on land as I would have in the past, I gathered my things and left.  

Be kind to yourself – well, I wallowed a bit, but I kept telling myself I didn’t deserve to be singled out. Owe your shit – not what you think. I owned that I walked away. I owned that I hadn’t made personal comments and descended into nastiness. I had stuff to be happy about the way I behaved. 

Accept that you’re human – of course, I was emotional and I probably shouted and perhaps sitting on a boat in the middle of a lack is not the best place to stand up for oneself, especially to the person who’s meant to get you back to shore. But I’m not perfect. I’m learning to live with that. 

Know your objective – my objective is to learn to row. So I kept the conversation with the co-ordinator focussed on that. How can I keep learning how to row? Is there a solution? Rather than Gillian should be thrown overboard. 

Speak to facts – in my conversation with the co-ordinator I kept to the facts and I included my own fallibility.  

They say history repeats. We see it so often on the world stage. In our little spheres though, we have the power to stop the cycles. Exciting times!