Why Don't You Like Me?

I struggled for years to overcome my obsession with people liking me.

Photo Illustration by Jessica Murray | Special to VOX

By Kristen Lewis | VOX Staff

While some people obsess over appearance and others obsess over materialistic things, I obsess over something that is not often recognized: people liking me. I’ve lived so many personalities over the years, including a preppy girl, a music junkie, the girl next door and an oddball. I’m still not sure which I really identify with.

Every time I met new people, I calculated who I had to be to fit in. I would inquire about their biggest pet peeves and their thoughts on the best qualities in a friend. And then I’d alter my personality to fit their opinions.

The day I realized I had a problem, I was out shopping with one of my good friends. When we entered J.C. Penney, I began to browse the clothing sections.

“I love this!” I exclaimed, rushing over to an old-fashioned white blouse. My friend wrinkled her nose in distaste, and I felt a surge of embarrassment and shame.

“Just kidding,” I feebly added, laughing nervously, my heart pulsing as I waited to see what she would do.

“Good,” she breathed in what seemed like relief, walking over to another rack of clothes. I cast a wistful look at the blouse but followed her, smiling tightly as she pointed out a shirt she thought would look great on me.

I bought the shirt she’d picked for me that day, along with several other pieces of clothing I wasn’t very fond of.
When I got home, I stowed the clothes in my closet next to shirts that looked nothing like them. Seeing the contrast made me wonder why I had bought them in the first place. Truth is, I had bought those clothes in fear that my friend would not like me anymore if I disagreed with her. I was worried that if our views differed, she’d replace me. It made me feel dispensable and worthless, and I hated working so hard to be the perfect friend.

I had become a professional shape-shifter. I didn’t bend my body in odd positions, but I altered my personality to fit in. I didn’t think it was too bad of a quality until the preacher at my church challenged the congregation with a question that hit me especially hard. He asked it several times, “Who exactly are you?” The truth is, I don’t always know.

Opposite Extremes
In fifth grade all the “cool” girls became cheerleaders, so I became one too. I didn’t join because I felt the intense urge to be a cheerleader. I was the girl who would eat a worm for a quarter and wore ripped jeans and a T-shirt unless my mother made me dress cute. But for those few months as a cheerleader, I wore my bloomers, my skirt and my teeny shirt with a ribbon in my hair and a smile on my face, feeling robotic and bored. If that’s what it took to be popular, I was willing to be a girly-girl for the hours I spent with my fellow cheerleaders. Although I stopped cheerleading after that school year, I continued to conform in almost every other aspect in my life, and the clothes I wore showed it too. I was miserable, but I continued to copy the popular girls until the eighth grade.

By then I had rebelled in an effort to seem confident because people love confidence. It was an unusual rebellion. I came back to school as a freak. As ashamed as I am to admit it, I was a total loon. I wore two different knee-high socks every day. I purposefully mismatched my shoes and my earrings as well. Maybe it was a reflection of how I usually felt in comparison to the other girls: a misfit. The popular girls were perfect with their clear skin, straight teeth, stylish clothes, group of friends who they traveled everywhere with, and boyfriends who adored them. I was struggling with my skin, my teeth were covered in braces and my clothes were weird. I was a bit of a loner, and I was never the girl who guys liked.

By the beginning of 10th grade, my obsession was getting out of control. I struggled to remember exactly what I had said to certain people. I couldn’t recall what small thing I had changed about myself to make them enjoy my company. Instead of experiencing relief in the presence of the people I called my friends, I experienced intense fear.

For a few smiles and a bit of self-confidence, I had sacrificed happiness by forcing myself to conform. I found my identity in the people I spent time with. It became a roller coaster ride I couldn’t get off. If I was not told about an outing, or if someone poked fun at me, my self-confidence plunged to disastrous levels. It was horrifying to know that I depended so much on people I really didn’t know.

Kristen is a junior at Collins Hill High.