I figure you can't remember it properly, because the developmental transitions are gamechanging epiphanies, but I do remember as a pre-tween being caught up in, hell, just giggling that much that would rive our parents mad, but it just seemed...it was how we felt...Hyperbole+.5's giggle loop like a normal part of life, not just a mechanism trying to reset itself and operate with "accepted" rules.

I have not been as depreseed as she was in the way she describes, but I have no doubt she could write chronic pain and I would break down. But I'm clearly on some sort of edge, because Graham Norton made me cry-- Chris Pine (who I like purely for his junkets and interviews) and Benedict Cumberbitches hugging their fans who'd come to the UK for that show from as far afield as the US or Japan. They were just so HAPPY with a small thing, and I can't imagine holding strangers' emotions like that. They're both graceful with it too.

My grandmother was a lot like that with her dementia. Mom and I would talk about it all the time, how she was like a toddler when it came to feelings and emotions. She'd get overwhelmed or sad and meltdown or if her routine changed. She'd also get caught in these loops of pointing out all the red cards or reading words on signs.

Matilda is perfect!

And how can I help her push back when half the time I believe the voices myself?

You can because you are now the grown up and you know the voices lie (even when you doubt that truth.) And you can see the beauty and wonderousness. You KNOW it. And because it is hard, you are her living example. So you flip the finger, and let her know that she's her best person. You give her the tools.

Matilda is perfect!

She is, but she devoutly believes she isn't. I asked her if some other kid had told her that and threatened to punch him/her in the face, but she insisted nobody had ever told her and that she just knew it was true when she looked in the mirror.

eta:

So you flip the finger, and let her know that she's her best person. You give her the tools.

We started this evening; I think (hope) I didn't totally bungle the conversation. I just really didn't think that conversation would have to start so soon.

But it is ok to not be perfect. It's interesting! I don't know anyone I love who is perfect. I think I might resent them if I knew them. And that's not to say the people I love do fucked up shit. Just, they are people.

sarameg beat me to precisely what I was rushing to the end to say, JZ.

You can help her fight the voices precisely because you DO know them so well. There is no warrior more legitimate than the veteran warrior.

You did perfectly tonight. It may have hurt, and of course you'd rather not ever have to help her see herself differently than the world conspires to make her do, but you DID the very best there is to do.

Oh gosh. I wish I could hold your hand while gently patting her on the back. Maybe after bringing you mugs of yummy cocoa.

Facing life's challenges can be thirsty work, yo.

Oh, JZ, that's heartbreaking. I dread having that conversation with Rose, though I'm sure we will, many times over.

edit: I misspoke (mistyped), because I'm sure it won't be the same conversation in many of the details, but it makes me so preemptively sad to think that one day she'll get the cultural message that something about her body or her looks isn't "good enough," even though she's the most gorgeous creature that ever lived. (You know, besides Matilda, and every other Buffista sprog.)

I just really didn't think that conversation would have to start so soon.

I knew I was odd when I hit kinder. Really, just shy, but I internalized odd. All things told, I'm a pretty well adjusted adult. A bit of an introvert. But I spent most of my elem years resigning myself to a bad weird. I shouldn't have.

Poor, Matilda. My heart hurts for her and for you, JZ. I can still very much remember thinking I was as wonderful as my mother told me I was until I was in first grade and the girls I went to school with started telling me how different and not cool I was.