I was born into a gig and I have to get away from it. And by “gig”, I mean “life defining label”. I need to stop being the mayor’s daughter already.

People I met as an adult – sur-PRISE! People I grew up with – how weird is it that not everybody in my little world knows this already? But they don’t. When I left home, it was kind of like going from having a face tattoo to having one tucked behind my ear. Aka, this big obvious fact that everyone knew about me without actually knowing me at all wasn’t so obvious anymore. The liberation was amazing. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. But growing up, I would’ve changed my dad’s job in a hot second if I could have. Which he held from before I was born until after I graduated from college. There may be the children of mayors and governors and senators out there right now like, whatevs. The folks do them, I do me. I wish I’d been that cool. I wasn’t. I was an overly sensitive, book-smart little flower who cringed every time I heard somebody whisper, “Do you know who her father is??” 

Not that this happened every day. But it felt like just when I let my guard down and thought I could pass for one of the gang, someone would trot my unwanted identity out again. Sampler of actual questions that I was asked during childhood: 

Is your dad going to run for anything else? 

Yes, many times. Ask me about how great I am at handing out campaign flyers! 

Do you live in a mayor’s mansion?

No. Because this is small town, West Virginia, not New York, New York. 

Do you guys know the president?

See above. 

Are you guys rich?

We have more than enough, but no. “Gets ink in local newspaper” does not equal “buys children a pony”. 

Do you have to get all A’s in school or will, like, your dad call the police?

I’m not sure how this even makes sense, but more than one kid thought I only did well in school because my dad would unleash the wrath of city government on the school system if I got less than an A. Which wasn’t true. I did well in school cause I’m a book-happy nerd who likes learning stuff. Also, if I’d gotten less than an A, my dad would’ve unleashed his anger, but it wouldn’t have been on the school system. It would’ve been on me. 

Which is the other part of the story.

See, part of my anger at the mayor’s daughter piece is that the mayor verbally ripped me a new one every time he got angry at me. Or, honestly, if he got angry in general, and I was unlucky enough to become the target. My dad would get angry, I would get upset, my mom would separate us and that was that…..the subject of the rift was never discussed again. Unfortunately, for me at least, it mean the resentment built up and festered. So that added to my dislike of the mayor’s daughter label. For a good part of my childhood – and my adulthood, if I’m being real – I was pissed at the mayor. And at least until I left home, it felt like there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. 

But still, I took my role seriously. Too seriously, to be honest. Somehow, the mayor’s daughter thing and my overthinking brain and my parents’ high expectations of me mixed up a high-octane overachiever’s brew. In our house, we sometimes gave short shift to the process of doing, enjoying and learning things and instead got stuck on achievement and the win. THE WIN, baby, THE WIN. 

I thought I had to be, win, and do everything I possibly could, and lost sight of whether those things were actually meaningful to me or not. And that habit has stuck with me….for too looooong of a time.

Maybe you carry around something similar, something that you want to leave behind. So what are we going to do about it? 

I made a not okay list. Maybe you’d like to make one too?

My not okay list is, you guessed it, a list of things that I am not okay with. An HONEST list of things that I am not okay with. Things I want to bravely face. And, in some cases, to bravely face other people about. See, I have gone for so long thinking I had to make the story pretty, had to make everything all right, had to insist that everything was fine even when it wasn’t, that sometimes I don’t even like to acknowledge to myself when things feel wrong. So – I’m trying to be honest, and brave, and change my relationship to those things on the not okay list.

I also made a grateful list. Happily, it’s longer than the not okay list. Also happily, I love lists. Now I just need to learn to live and breathe into the grateful one, while acknowledging and managing the not okay’s. “Just”. Right. When I explained all this to my therapist, she smiled and said it sounded like the work of life. 

So what’s next? A hope list? Coping list? To-do list, with some kind of enlightened twist? Me letting go of my list obsession entirely?

I don’t know. But I do know I’m too old to only tell pretty stories anymore.