My mom refers to me in a lot of different ways. She uses “Tay”, “Tay Tay”, “Taylor Noel” when I’m in trouble, “Bean”, and a slew of other sporadic names. I answer to all, although I don’t necessarily like them all. I would say I prefer “Tay” out of all the nicknames she has for me, but there’s one that she used not that long ago that resonated with me at my core. One that began with a story. One that has yet to end.
As a toddler, I was very particular. I kept all my stuffed animals in the spot where they belonged (yes, there was a specific order). I liked my room as clean as a whistle. I put myself to bed at night despite my favorite show still playing on the TV. My bedtime would come, and I would waltz out of the living room, down the hall, and slip into bed (what child does that?)
On the other hand, my sister was cut from an entirely different cloth. She was always the center of attention. She was the most demanding person in any room she walked in. She liked putting on performances, talking up a storm, and rallying people together to show them a trick, dance move, or just the dirt on her shoe. She found any excuse to do it all. Be the loudest. Be the funniest. Do the most. And it worked.
I, however, was never like that. Home videos show me being her sidekick at times and following in her footsteps, as a lot of younger siblings do, but I was usually not the one instigating any grand skit or over-the-top gesture.
What you can do is see me quietly playing with my dolls in the background while my sister hogs the limelight. I have entire narratives and storylines curated for the family of dolls that I play with, and I’m focused on carrying those out.
You can see me watching my sister’s theatrical performances and stepping back to give her the spotlight. I was a lot more calculated, deliberate, and inquisitive, even at a young age. That has always just been innate to me.
Which brings me to what happened a few months ago. I was offered a job that I just didn’t feel good about. I noticed red flags from the very beginning, and my intuition told me to run the other way. When I decided to decline the offer, I told my mom that I just knew it wasn’t right for me. That’s all I ultimately had to go off.
She said back to me, “You’ve always been my feel-good baby. Since you’ve been very little, I’ve had this settled feeling that you’d be okay. I haven’t always felt that way with your siblings, but with you, I’ve worried less because you’ve only ever done what’s felt good to you.”
Gosh, momma, if only you were right! If I had only ever done what’s been good for me, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I’d be someone else. Someone without flaws or mistakes. Someone who said “no” more often to misalignment and “yes” more often to the aligned. That’d be my utopia. I’d be living in complete euphoria.
The reality of the fact is, I haven’t always done what’s been good for me. The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve tried to stay true to that, but I have most definitely done what’s been bad for me. I have cognitively chosen the wrong choice, knowing that it wouldn’t benefit me. I have willingly opted for the harsher, less forgiving, more sadistic options for so many reasons, I can’t even sit here and begin to name them all.
But I think I know what my mom meant by I’m her “feel-good baby”. I think she meant that I’ve known what’s been good for me and what’s not been good for me since my earliest memories. I haven’t always chosen the “good” options, but I have at least possessed the quality of knowing them.
I also don’t want to negate the times I have stayed true to myself, because there have been a lot of them. Times when I’ve had to choose between disappointing someone else‘s expectations or disappointing my own intuition, and I didn’t pick the former. Times when I’ve refrained from engaging in activities and events that felt entirely against my grain. Even when I was very young. Even when it was totally acceptable for me to go with the flow, there have been so many times I haven’t. Something in me says, “this isn’t for you,” and I honor that voice because it’s always been wiser than I myself have been.
The last year of my life has been entirely dedicated to connecting the knowing and the doing part of my decision making process. I have the knowing part down pretty pat, but gosh, that doing part is tough. It really is. Because just when you think you’re doing well, something will test your limits. Some temptation will come around. Some easy option will present itself, and you’ll have to pick between sticking true to your guns or relapsing into that short-term, quick-fix.
I’m the first to say that pretty much all of 2021 has been about doing what feels good to me. People have been confused, concerned, and judgmental of my decisions, and I get it. I’ve switched up a lot of what my comfortable life looks like. It’s different, and different sometimes scares people.
But at the end of the day, if I have to go to bed with a sinking feeling in my stomach that I have chosen the worse-off options for me, you’re not going to be the one who feels that. Only I am. And Lord knows, I don’t want to feel those. I want to know what the good options are, and then I want to pick them, too. Time and time and time again.
So, out of all the nicknames my mom has given me over the course of 24 years, my favorite has been “feel-good baby”. It resonates with me and motivates me, and even though, Taylor is how 99.9% of people know me, “feel-good baby” is who I really am.
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