When Simone asked me to write for this blog, I was excited and nervous (nervcited!). I wrote a bunch of practice posts before I was satisfied with one and finally submitted it—my first post about my Consent Facilitator training. Before I submitted it, however, I sent Passion (one of the other fabulous writers here and another intern at GLI this past summer) an anxious text message that said something like ,“Can we talk about the blog? I don’t know if what I wrote is ok!” Passion responded telling me that whatever I had written was probably fine. I wrote back, “maybe I should ask Simone?” And Passion replied, “You know the answer to that, you are just asking me because it makes you feel better.”
About three weeks ago, I spoke with Rachel Simmons at her book tour event in New York City and talked about my emotional journey pre-GLI and post-GLI. It was a really great experience for me–I got to share parts of myself that I never share with anyone with a group of strangers (ok, a few of my friends were there). Actually, I felt really scared, but felt great afterwards. So I thought I would share what I said that night with this community:
Hi, my name is Lauren Herold. I’m a sophomore at Columbia University and in the summer of 2006, I was a camper at GLI. This past summer, I also interned at GLI. First, I would like to thank Rachel for inviting me. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to speak here.
Did you know that having a learning difference can be incredibly empowering for a girl?
I recently interviewed Sara, 17, for a Teen Vogue article about The Curse of the Good Girl. Like many girls, Sara has struggled with the Curse, the pressure to conform to a version of girlhood impossible to attain: to be friends with everyone, nice all the time, flawless at schoolwork and completely selfless. But having a learning disability has introduced Sara to a new set of skills and abilities that have buffered her against the unhealthy pressure to be perfect.
As a student at a boarding school in the northeast, Sara’s learning differences are especially challenging in the intense pressure of a college prep environment. “I have a truckload of learning disabilities,” she told me. “I’m in the 5th percentile in processing. Everything I do is just twice or three times as slow as everybody else.”
I never was any good at playing the Good Girl game. Sure, I had the right parts and pieces. I came with the required two X chromosomes, two ovaries, and two breasts. And my mom paid the extra money for the gear: a helmet of insecurity, knee pads of perfectionism, and a quieted mouthpiece. On the first day of practice, I showed up prepared—physically, at least.
Even with all the right equipment, I could not wrap my head around the game’s objective. And I struggled immensely with the regulations—there were so many and you had to know them all to win. On top of that, every new opponent came with their own set of house rules. You never played good girl the same way twice.
I just couldn’t keep up and the other girls on the team took notice. At first, they helped me out. Girls pulled me to the side after practice. They spent one-on-one time teaching me moves. I picked up some things better that way but when game time rolled around, I contributed more to our losses than anything else.
