Lately, I’ve been sitting with memories, the kind that make you wince a little. The kind that feel different once you realize what was really going on beneath the surface. This piece grew out of one of those moments of reflection, with coffee in hand and a bit more compassion for the girl I was.
I don’t know about others, although I’ve seen a growing number of people telling their tales about that massive cringe when looking back at the more divergent moments in our lives with a mix of horror, regret, and painful clarity.
As a Gen Jones-ite, we spent so much time trying to make ourselves invisible, but there was something in us that knew: if we got too comfortable, we’d do something “off,” something cringe-worthy, and others would judge us for it.
Take a drink if this sounds familiar.
It’s a total cringe-fest now when I think back on some of the many moments in my life where my attempts at fitting in fell so flat, that they practically reached the second dimension. I still struggle to silence the memory of others’ responses, being ignored, not invited, brushed aside. It’s all rather illuminating… in that strobe-lights-seizure kind of way.
It’s hard to let go of that, the shame we carry, both for ourselves and on behalf of others is sticky stuff. At its core, the cringe factor is tied to being unable to read a room, the constant fear of being judged, and the quiet desperation it took to try and mask our differences.
Tromping through the decades of incalculable cringe moments, I’ve shed tears at some, laughed at a few (not often), and managed to let others go. But the hardest part is forgiving myself for what I now understand to be my undiagnosed neurodivergence. Those moments carved into my soul at the time…they hurt. But looking at them now gives me the incredible opportunity to wrap my arms around that past version of me and say:
It’s okay.
You’re okay.
Be okay with it.
2025 – jj thompson
LIFE on the HALF SHELL 