Every school report card from my formative years held some variation of, “Noelle is inclined to visit too much. Her constant socializing keeps her from reaching her potential.” Because of this, it is bewildering for me to acknowledge that finding my voice has been my life’s work. 

As a kid, I bounced around, attending five elementary schools, two junior high schools, two high schools, and three universities. I certainly learned how to make friends and fit in, but that rarely involved showing up as myself or presenting my own voice. Out of necessity in those early years, I developed a quick witted, sometimes razor edged, sense of humor. Humor became my protective armor and remains so to this day. You’ll find humor woven throughout my writing, as in my life. Oftentimes it’s inappropriate humor according to my mother, whose hushed, admonishing voice I can still hear so clearly, “No-o-WELL!” But you know she was cracking up on the inside!

Who’s voice is it anyway?

It has taken many years, and even more missteps, to realize that the voice I had been listening to and trusting, the voice that I was allowing to control the path of this one precious life of mine, was not a voice that always had my best interests in mind. Rather, it would lead me down a long, thorny path of fear, insecurity and wine … lots and lots of wine. This voice let me know, in case I should get cocky and think otherwise, that No, I absolutely was not ______ enough! *fill in the blank as you see fit.

In a misguided attempt to give me a role model for enoughness, the voice in my head introduced me to the female narcissistic sociopath or FNS. She fills in all the important enoughness blanks: beautiful, charismatic, adored, successful go-getter. And don’t forget skinny, the ultimate fill in for the I’m not enough blank. The FNS is the archetype she-devil with great teeth and killer boots that kept showing up in my life, along with her favorite accessory, the pedestal. As long as I behaved with proper respect to her station on that pedestal, I was safe. Even liked. But the minute I stood up for myself or questioned her, most notably if I could be perceived by others as right, I was fucked.

The beat down was on

The cycle of adoration > beat down > repeat with the female narcissistic sociopaths in my life was incredibly damaging to my self-worth, especially in the work environment. These soul-less husks of humanity are actually part of a horrible cosmic wrestle mania team. They endlessly tag each other in and out of the lives of poor saps like me who don’t even realize they’re in the ring at all. 

This beat down cycle continued until one day before work, I looked in the mirror. I finally noticed the beat up woman staring back at me with tired, defeated eyes. She had bruises that never had the chance to fully heal before the next beat down brought more of the same. Looking at her in the mirror, I realized the bandages I had carefully put in place in a valiant attempt to hold my broken self together were unraveling. Straight armed with bent wrists, I leaned on the bathroom sink, methodically rocking back and forth.  I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this!

I am woman hear me roar

That particular “Come to Jesus” in the mirror with myself nearly four years ago brought out the Helen Reddy in me. I Am Woman Hear Me Roar! I was not going to ever let another FNS into my life. Never ever! Until one day…

Less than a year after my Helen Reddy moment, I sat with closed eyes, head tilted back enjoying the sun on a tree-lined patio in the center of a medical campus. I waited alone at a black wrought iron table to meet a former colleague for lunch, the front two legs of the matching chair lifting off the ground a little. As I soaked up the warmth, I heard the faint sound of a crowd chanting as if at a sporting event. As the crowd noise grew closer, I could hear the chant, but it didn’t register. “FNS! FNS! FNS!”

I opened my eyes, pulled up my Ray-Bans and started to crane my head to look over my right shoulder. As I turned, the sun blinded me and I squinted hard. A coolness set in and I knew there was a large figure looming over me. It was my former colleague. As I tentatively opened my eyes, she came into view. I didn’t pay attention to those three trills of the starting bell that brought the crowd noise behind me to a roar. And just like that, I was back in the ring.

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