I Was a Childhood Lurker

Posted on by Victoria

I’m a lot of things, identities and characteristics that swim together fairly well.  Most days, I feel like a reasonably well-adjusted human.  Some days?  Not so much.  When I was little, I figured all adults, eventually, figured out their sh*t – one way or another.  As I grew older, I realized many of us DO come to terms with our idiosyncrasies, weirdness. Our tidbits of pathology and pathos, those prickly bits become familiar, less disconcerting.  Kind of like my preferences for food groups, friends, and toothpaste. 😉

Over time, I’ve marinated, becoming more of who I was always intended to be.  And – I’m okay with that.  Some closest to me call me quirky.  Okay. I like quirky – and the chunkier bits of ‘quirk’ are often intertwined with my cautionary approach to closeness, intimacy, and connection.  I have a broad group of acquaintances but only need a handful of peeps who’ve ‘seen it all and love me anyway’. Safer.  Less rejection.  

As I worked with a client recently, discussing her increasing anxiety as a result of more in-person, less remote work, she shared her disdain, given body image challenges, for being seen “in 360”.  During the pandemic, she could curate the view of others had of her…selectively choosing to be on camera or not and only parts of her body were visible.  For her, despite pandemic madness, this control was nirvana-like.  She comes (as I do) from a long line of body dysmorphic women who bond through shared eating disorders, low cal recipes and secrets for ‘dropping five pounds in a day’ to fit into a dress for some fearsome occasion, prompting anticipatory anxiety and insecurity. 

Listening to my dear client brought some of my own issues forward, meandering to the surface.  I shared a favorite Ted Talk with her titled, “Social Anxiety in the Modern World”, thinking it might be useful.  She loved it, but not for the reasons I expected…

The Ted Talk features Dr. Fallon Goodman, Assistant Professor of Psychology at George Washington University as she debunks many of the misconceptions and fallacies about social anxiety.  Dr. Goodman tells the story of a student who, when asked about her purpose in life said, “To avoid being noticed by other people”.

My client connected with the message – as if Dr. Fallon was speaking directly to her.  Her desire to be invisible, to observe and watch without interacting?  Yep.  “If only”, she said…adding it’s a matter of degrees and it varies, like barometric pressure, her need to stay on the outskirts, without detection and interaction.  I nodded and we discussed the differences between introversion and social anxiety.  They’re not the same…often misunderstood.  She chuckled when we concluded she’s a cautionary extrovert.

I’ve shared that sometimes after I meet with a client, I become reflective and this time childhood memories surfaced…awareness of my own protective mechanisms.  It’s better to stay in the shadows and observe rather than venture into harm’s way.  I often felt surrounded by too many adults with too many of their own problems and just like other kids who navigate a household full of secrets, I was never sure if I was on solid ground or in a land of mom’s make-believe. 

A dear cousin recently shared a recollection from our childhoods.  He’s a few years older and throughout our growing up years I regarded him as the wise, older brother figure…the son my dad never had.  In a long overdue catch-up call, he provided several gifts – in the form of validation, acknowledgement, and insight that homelife, for me and my disabled sister, Lisa, was a mix of madness, mayhem, and love.  Unpredictable, volatile.  His peripheral view of my mom, his aunt? Fun loving and charismatic but he wanted me to know he saw more.  He witnessed her compulsions and demons…he remembered episodes and scenes that I was too young to grasp.

He knows I’ve done some work to unpack the good, the bad and the in-between.  There’s so much that’s ‘in between’ as I’ve made peace with most of the pain.  As we spoke, my dear cousin said this:

 “You know, when I think about those times – the family get togethers, the crazy stuff, some of it WAS fun, some of it scary – especially for you as you were trying to protect Lisa.  There was always a lot of alcohol…like a never-ending party…and you were there… but kinda invisible at the same time.  My memories of you?  You were always on the sidelines, watching.  Observing.”

Tears welled as he spoke.  Yes. I was in the corner because it was safer there. Observe. Watch. Listen. Prepare.  I was hyper-focused, aware of ‘mom’s mood’ which could ricochet from gregarious and fun to angry and combative…in a blink. Anything might set her off, so I watched. And sometimes, all I wanted was to go unnoticed. Undetected. Like my client.

Often, I was ‘the helper’.  Bringing more food to the table, clearing plates, fetching cigarettes and beer or washing dishes. I was the gopher by choice.  Slide by, slip in and out and eavesdrop because every tidbit of information might be useful.  My cousin had me dead to rights.  I was a lurker, a ‘social scanner’, sweeping the room, reading all emotions, faces, unspoken thoughts as much as I could and as quickly as I could.  It was the “Vicki version” of managing my ingrained social anxiety and fear, ever more successful if my presence was undetected.

When moments arrive where cross checks and conversation about family history are possible, I revel in them.  The call with my cousin gave me peace and as I thought about my client and her journey, I remembered how valuable vulnerability can be.  Sharing secrets, the things we hold close – sometimes out of fear that we won’t be loved, might be rejected – can help us feel whole. Lighter.

Vicki 💕

41 thoughts on “I Was a Childhood Lurker”

  1. Wow. There is so much here to consider, I know a comment will not do. I am anxious to watch the Ted Talk. I am definitely an introvert (when I attended a retreat with a group of introverted women, I was deemed the most introverted of the group). My mind’s eye watched you as a child and my heart broke for you. Still, I see the work you have done and the value you bring to others and I am in awe of the healing. Receiving validation from others who experienced our trauma is so affirming. I will re-read this post again, several times perhaps, and think of so much else I could have said to you. This was brilliant.

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    1. Maggie…you’re prompting tears with your generous, kind comments. Oh my. Thank you so much for reading and for sharing. I feel honored. Truly. It helps me to know the piece made sense, was understood. Writing is so very solitary…and feedback means the world to me. Grateful. Hugs to you! 🥰

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    2. I felt the same feelings when reading this, Maggie. It’s quite inspiring, isn’t it? Or she is, I should say, talking about our Vicki. And I too will be re-reading the piece. There’s SO much here!

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  2. Thank you for this post. Had not thought of myself like this before, but “lurker” would still fit me to this day. I too have done a lot of “work” processing the baggage, (self esteem issues, and a host of other crap most of us drag into our adulthood. Even thought I am no longer stuck in a lot of it, I love being on the sidelines, I really do. it is safer, plus I can leave the party whenever I want, (ever hear of the “Irish good by?” I turn 65 next week and love the person (for the most part) I am. DM

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    1. Oh! DM! I love your comments — and that you also identify as a ‘lurker’. And your thought about what we drag into adulthood…oh yes. I feel that, too. Most of all, thank you for the chuckle about the “Irish goodbye”. One of my dearest colleagues mentioned that phrase to me about a year ago and despite having Irish ancestry, I’d never heard the term…but BOY did I identify with the maneuver! Yes, yes…the slip in, slide out routine. Love it. And…happy early birthday to you! xo! 💕💕💕

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  3. Another wow from me too, Vicki. There is so much to unpack here that it’s hard to know where to begin. Like you, I also lurked through my childhood, taking the temperature of the room, knowing when to be quiet, when it was okay to be present, when to disappear. It comforts me to believe that those who experience that type of environment in the formative years are so much the better for it. As difficult as it was, the gift is the wisdom we gain, and the sharing with others who have been impacted in a similar way. Thank you for showing a tiny bit more of yourself. I have always believed that the more of you that I can see, the more there is to love. Blessings to you dear Vicki.

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    1. Julia…thank you so very much. You are a gift and a blessing to ME for reading and sharing such loving comments. Happy to know you’re a fellow ‘lurker’ 😊 and I wholeheartedly agree — those skills, as you said, in ‘taking the temperature’ of a room, knowing when to be quiet. I wouldn’t trade any of that, as nutty as it was. Sending massive Sunday morning hugs your way. xo! 🥰🥰🥰

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  4. Vicki, as you know, I’m not able to be on here much, but I snuck on real quick to read your post, and I echo the others’ comments. Wow is right. In talking about your client, and bravely (as always), sharing about your own upbringing, you’ve managed to capture much of the essence of Kendra. On the sidelines is ALWAYS where I prefer to be. Even when singing at church, I hope I’m allowed to be in one of the positions that’s not “right out front.” Yet I never considered why I might feel that way. I’ll need to go back and read this over when I have more time to let it all simmer, but thank you, sweet friend!

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    1. Kendra! Love you on so many levels. ❤️ Thank you for your loving comment…it means a lot to hear you understand…that it “connects” for you. Sending big, big hugs.
      ❤️🥰❤️

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  5. I agree with Maggie, I’ll try to respond now, but I know that I need to save this one Vicki and come back and re-read it again. I read your description and I felt like you were reading my thoughts. I walk into a room today and I’m very much focused on reading the room and people’s moods, that person is trying to get the attention of another, someone else is close to tears, another is frustrated and suffering in silence. I trace it back to being a kid and as you describe being “hyper-focused, and aware” of my father’s mood and being aware that anything could set it off. And I can relate to that when someone notices that skill or where we were in the moment of stress . . . it can be freeing. Yes, someone noticed me!!! Well done Vicki!

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  6. This was a powerful, and very honest post Vicki. I will add myself to the list of child lurkers and like others we seem to be locked into childhood trauma as a root cause. It has been a long journey with so many ups and downs but I knew the real me was inside somewhere. Lurking doesn’t need to be a priority anymore and that has freed me, as DM said, to like myself and stop sitting on the sidelines. Thank you for sharing so openly.

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  7. My dear Vicki, I so wish you had the opportunity to talk to my mom: it took me many years to understand how much she truly helped me, beyond the obvious ways. How much she shaped me into the best parts of who I am today. Over the years she told me many times that life is a journey, not a destination, and it’s take me most of my life to comprehend the wisdom of her words.

    And if recent years have taught me anything, it’s the importance of a community: what does it say about us when the goal of someone’s life is “To avoid being noticed by other people”?

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    1. I love how your brain works, EW. 🤍🤍🤍 Yes, indeed. So much pain for so many. And yes — I wish I’d known your mom. From the things you’ve shared…what a beautiful human she was. The wisdom — ‘life’s a journey…not a destination’? Powerful…and I agree. Community and connection can’t make everything okay, but it sure does help to have dear friends and trusted souls near us. Thank you for being you — and for sharing your mom.
      xo 💕💕💕

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  9. Beautiful, incredible, powerful post. And the ending – and tie to vulnerability is so right to my heart! When we allow ourselves to come out of the shadow and be seen – the good and the bad, in order to be seen – amazing. I loved these sentences, “I remembered how valuable vulnerability can be. Sharing secrets, the things we hold close – sometimes out of fear that we won’t be loved, might be rejected – can help us feel whole. Lighter.”

    Whole and lighter – absolutely!! Incredible post that needs to go in the hall of fame of posts!! Love you, dear friend!

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    1. Goodness, Wynne. Thank you — I’m not sure what to say when I believe the comment is more praise-worthy than the post itself. 😉❤😉 You are tooooo kind. Thank you for being a soul sister and for “seeing me”. I think those two words — “seeing me” = our favorite expression of love and kinship. xo! 💕💕💕

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  11. Vicki, as everyone else has said, there is so much to unpack here. I was also a childhood lurker, though I think my motive was being intensely curious about the lives of adults as opposed to in response to trauma. I’m still quite the wallflower. Goodness, my heart hurts for what you’re little mind must have gone through watching and reacting to rapid changes in emotion, but I’m glad that you’re worked through it are now able to guide others. On the other hand, I’m fascinated that we, the sideline observers, somehow all found ourselves congregated here in the blogosphere community.

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    1. Thank you, dear Erin. I agree with you — there is something fascinating about our community and as you said, finding one another here. My sense of it is that my blogging friends – to a person – have so much depth and it’s a characteristic I know I seek. Fascinating, for sure…and beautiful. And you, you, you…sending love and hugs in every way. Thanks for reading, thanks for your sweet comment. xo…and I mean it! 💕💕💕

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  12. “To avoid being noticed by other people” I relate to that idea. As a child it often seemed like the best way to function in large groups, which from my introverted perspective was 3 or more people. I like the idea that I was a lurker back then. In a way by putting a name to how I behaved gives it power, legitimizes how I got by. Gives me Harriet the Spy vibes.

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    1. Oh, Ally Bean. Harriet the Spy indeed! Yep – your ‘inner lurker’ must’ve nurtured your observational superpowers. Or your wit. Maybe both? Thanks so much for the smile…and for the record, I’m with you. Three or more? That’s a crowd! 😉

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  13. Hello Vicki, I agree with everyone else, there is so much here that you have shared. You have been so open and vulnerable and it always amazes me just how much that can help others, bringing everyone closer together. There are some things I can relate to but I don’t think I was a lurker, but still I had to be aware of what was going on in the house, with everyone else. Perhaps I had to be a bit of a lurker with my father but it was more hiding/waiting for his behaviour. But with my mum, as I’ve been reflecting on it a lot, she couldn’t be the adult so as the oldest child, that fell to me, even from a young age my mum looked to me to act for her, make decisions etc. From that vantage point, I had to look out for my younger siblings and cousins. I guess that’s why despite being an introvert to some extent, I will come out from the shadows

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    1. Thank you so much for sharing all of that, Brenda, especially how your mum needed you for support. What a good daughter…keeping an eye on the younger ones, too. I absolutely connect with the beautiful comment you made about caring for them and your mom. You have a big heart…and I can only imagine how that translates into the care you offer your students. Cheers and hugs to you, my friend! 💓💓💓

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  14. Pingback: The Year I Held My Breath – The Heart of the Matter

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