Have you ever been told you’re different? I mean really “different”? Not having a different view of something or a different opinion, but “different.”

I certainly have, many times. It was always said in a condescending tone of voice, which left nothing to the imagination. It meant there was something wrong with me, not only what I had said or had done … but with me. And I was being judged by another who obviously had it all together. And they must be right. Or that’s what I thought.

I first began noticing it in junior high and then throughout high school. It wasn’t because of my religion or my choice of clothes. It was because of the person I was. That’s what they were saying.

Adolescence was rough. It was a time of sensitivity to comments made and when the desire to fit in was so strong. Well, I didn’t … fit in, that is. But I did survive.

Elementary school had been different. I had friends, and even though I wasn’t allowed to go to their houses, I felt a part of things. I was selected to be in a musical group of eight girls and we performed at various organizations’ meetings. My parents would attend those times. I received a very good or excellent in every aspect on my report card. I felt basically supported at home and at school. Then I entered junior high. And things began to change …

I was now in a different building and also had a class schedule. In addition, report cards now showed number grades. But my 75 (C) was not acceptable at home and my 85 (B) was only OK, even though I spent lots of time on homework and was trying really hard. My effort didn’t seem to matter anymore.

Then my classmates began to gather together after school, but since I rode the bus, I couldn’t join them. I also noticed I was no longer invited to their birthday parties and it went on and on.

Being “left out” became a prevalent feeling. I started noticing the comment, “you’re different,” being expressed often by my so called friends. It said I wasn’t normal … and I so wanted to be.

To feel accepted somewhere haunted me. My grades weren’t good enough at home and my presence wasn’t desired by my so called friends at school. Loneliness became my frequent friend. Fortunately, there were two teachers at school who saw I had some abilities and encouraged me, eventually writing recommendations for me to get into college. And I did get in.

I became a teacher, zeroing in on those students who I could see were struggling to fit in as I had, and I sought to encourage them.

My personal high school experience blossomed in my teaching, giving me a sensitivity to my student’s concerns that not all teachers had. The interesting thing is that even as an adult I have been told, with that critically judgemental tone, that I’m “different.”

And as an adult, I have spent time wondering about it all. Adolescence is a challenging time for each of us in many ways — what we do, how we act, what we think, how we feel — it’s all about us and our development. Then we progress to adulthood, or so we think. But some remain in that adolescent mentality, criticizing any who don’t do or act or think or feel as they do. Some can’t go shopping or walking or exercising unless others join them. The need for their group still seems paramount.

With being an adult and being “different,” I have grown to realize that it’s my interpretation of different that is the key. I can feel lonely, as I did in high school, or I can feel a part of the human race with a uniqueness all my own. That is my choice. And I have realized that being alone with oneself is quite different from being lonely. They don’t have to go hand in hand. Being alone with myself doesn’t scare me as it does many others. It gives me time to relax, create, reenergize and think my own thoughts, whether others agree or not.

However, being “different” can, in some cases, lead to a feeling of loneliness. It’s how we view ourselves. Accepting the lonely feeling and sitting with it helps to understand why we are feeling this way. Then we can do something about it. Wallowing in it does not bring relief. It just deepens it and causes long term suffering. Burying the pain or resisting it won’t bring us peace, either. The long term effects will remain and reappear down the road.

Personally, I focus on Mother Nature to help me deal with any negative emotions I am experiencing. By viewing her colors and sounds, I see beauty. It’s very uplifting for me and I realize loneliness is a part of being human. And that’s OK.

We experience fear and anger and sadness. We also experience joy and happiness and kindness. Realizing we can do something to help ourselves is encouraging. So, do we try to share with someone who can understand and empathize? Sharing can divide the pain and help us on our way. Do we visit someone and try to be there for them, taking our mind off of ourselves? We want to rid ourselves of that lonely feeling without driving ourselves farther away from a more healthy solution.

So, if you’re feeling lonely, allow yourself to sit with it for a time and then do something — reach out and be present to someone else. Being “different” does not have to be a lonely road. It can mean being a little more efficient than most or a little more sincere or a little more kindly or possibly seeing things in a decidedly different way, a deeper way. It can mean being true to your authentic self. So, if you are “different,” good for you! Embrace the quality and see it as a compliment. You are indeed “unique.” Share that uniqueness and any loneliness you may have been feeling might just melt away.

— — —

Debby Havas is an author living in Jay. Her writings describe her experiences in the healing energies of Mother Nature.