Tiger Mary and Me

My kindergarten class in Millen, Georgia. I'm the one in the middle, front row.

When I was four, I walked to kindergarten by myself.

This was back in 1954. Nobody thought twice about a little girl walking a few blocks alone in Millen, a small town in southeast Georgia. A town barely anyone has heard of, even today.

I knew the way. Two blocks up the street, turn right, three more blocks, and there was Mrs. Hughes's kindergarten, in her house.

The day the door was locked

One day I walked home, and the door was locked.
I was stunned. No one was home. That had never happened before. Emma, our housekeeper, who looked after me and my little sister, Maie, was always there. Not that day.

I sat down on the back porch steps and wondered what to do.
My cat, Tiger Mary, came over and rubbed against my leg. (Yes, Tiger Mary. My aunt found the kitten and said, "I think we should name her Tiger." I was certain her name was Mary. So we settled on both.)

I remember crying. I told Tiger Mary I didn't know what to do. She looked up at me. That was all. She listened.

After a while, I wiped my tears and told her, "I'm going to the store." The store was the Hatcher's Drugstore my parents owned, and I was sure that's where everyone was.

I had a general idea where it was. It was much farther than kindergarten. But I thought, it's the only thing to do. So I set off, brave and determined.

I wasn't sure I knew the way. But I was headed in the right direction.

Brave and determined.

About two blocks later, I looked up and saw Mother in our Chevrolet, driving fast. I saw the look on her face. I think she was scared. She told me to get in the car. "Emma is sick," she said.

I guess Mother was so busy she forgot about me, then got worried when she remembered.

It's part of motherhood, having a million things on your mind.

I don't remember if I was afraid that day. I do know I trusted something in me to follow my instincts and get help.

And Tiger Mary helped, just by listening.

I wish my mother had said, "You must have been scared. I'm proud of you for listening to yourself."

I don't think she said much. She was probably steeped in guilt.

Why am I telling you this?

Because most of us weren't taught to do what that four-year-old did. We were told what to do. We weren't encouraged to rely on our own senses.

Children need to feel safe. They need guidance to follow their instincts and know what to do if something goes wrong.

I've struggled my whole life to trust myself. I thought everyone else knew more than I did. I thought they all had the answers...not me.

My mother was carrying a lot. My father had suffered from two "nervous breakdowns," as it was called back then, and the family lost the business while he was in the hospital...before I was even born. 

I didn't know that story until I was an adult. There was so much shame and fear around mental illness back then. My mother was busy surviving, keeping the family intact. She didn't have the knowledge or the skills to teach us to trust ourselves. Nor did she have the time.

I know now that my mother was the rock that kept our family together. But there was a cost. She kept a tight ship so the gossip in our small town wouldn't reach us. I'm grateful for that. And I still wish I'd been guided.

So here I am today, helping other women learn to trust themselves.

I think about that little girl on the steps a lot, especially now. The world is loud and dangerous. Everyone has an opinion about what we should think, feel, and do. The news, our feeds, the people "in charge" of the world who are corrupt and power crazy. It's easy to lose track of our own quiet voice.

But that quiet voice didn't go anywhere. It's still in there, waiting for you to ask.

How to trust yourself: seven simple steps

Here's what I know. It comes down to three things: listening, knowing yourself, and trusting what you hear.

Listen

1. Settle yourself first. Three slow breaths, with the exhale a little longer each time. When your nervous system is revved up, you can't hear yourself much. Grounding yourself is one of your greatest tools.

2. Ask a simple question, then wait. Out loud or on paper: "What do I know about this?" Notice the first answer, before the second-guessing starts. That's your Tiger Mary moment.

Know yourself

3. Get curious about what's true for you. Try journaling on these. When do I feel most like myself? What do I care about that I've stopped saying out loud? What would I tell my best friend to do in this spot?

4. Notice your body. A yes often feels steady and open. A no often feels tight. You don't have to argue with it. Just notice.

Trust

5. Take the next step, not the whole trip. I didn't know the whole way to the drugstore. I just knew the direction. That was enough.

6. Find your own Tiger Mary. Someone who listens and doesn't try to fix you or tell you what to do.  A friend, a journal, a circle of women who understand and don't judge.  We trust ourselves more when we're heard.

7. Be kind about it. Let go of the shame about second-guessing and overthinking. Almost every woman I know does it. Stop being so hard on yourself, and try saying this: "Even though I've had a hard time trusting myself, I can listen to myself now."

Start small. Practice on the little decisions, like what to order in a restaurant or which way to walk, so the muscle is there when something big comes.

Over to you:

What's one thing you already know, deep down, that you've been waiting for permission to trust?  And if you'd like to see where your own self-doubt shows up, take my free self-trust quiz.