In high school, I hated pep rallies — but I wasn’t sure why.
I just knew I felt uncomfortable when the band was playing and everybody was excited and cheering. I felt oddly out of place. I never told anybody this, but I felt embarrassed of myself. I didn’t clap or cheer or whatever else the crowd around me was doing.
I felt horribly conflicted, although I didn’t understand that at the time. Part of me was excited by the music and cheering and chanting — but I was afraid to let myself go. I was afraid to feel anything. And that made these public displays of emotional frenzy seem very dangerous to me.
I felt coldly numb as I grew up. In middle school, some kids laughingly called me “Spockelroy,” which was someone’s clever mixture of “Spock” and “McElroy.” I was the brilliant rationalist who didn’t feel anything — and who never expressed emotions.
I understand why now.
The loss of my mother had hurt me more than I understood. My fear of my father’s unpredictable narcissistic rage was constant. I had learned that I got into trouble if I expressed my unhappiness.
I learned to remain numb. Not to feel. It was how I survived.

A broken heart is devastating, but closing yourself to love is worse
Lucy’s fun afternoon at my office reminds me that work needs play
Emotional wounds in me quickly spot those with similar wounds
Creating work that I’m proud of gives me elusive feelings of joy
We’re in summer reruns this week
Briefly: Almost half of Americans now favor some form of socialism
Briefly: Please be patient while we upgrade the site a bit
Briefly: Does everyone have a ‘true love’? It’s ridiculous, but my heart believes