It seems only yesterday I used to believe there was nothing under my skin but light. If you cut me I would shine.
But now if I fall upon the sidewalks of life, I skin my knees. I bleed.

From Billy Collins’ “On Turning Ten“

I remember learning in graduate school that by 7th grade, a majority of young girls lose interest in math and science. Literature suggests that the loss of interest is due to negative feedback, not necessarily consistent low performance. Eventually, the negative feedback is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Girls opt out of advanced math and science courses and careers.

I definitely learned the I can’t do math and science lesson. I also learned the I can’t draw lesson, I can’t cook lesson, and the I am not athletic lesson, to name a few.

There is an invincibility — a light shining aspect — to childhood that is worn down by I can’t lessons. I can’t lessons can come in many guises. Diagnoses of chronic illness. Messages from toxic role models. Life circumstances that feel overwhelming. Repeated setbacks that discourage trying and learning.

Learning that we bleed when we fall is not necessarily a bad thing. Falls happen and our light does not always shine. Knowing what to do with what happens when we don’t shine — finding alternatives to quitting, asking for help, valuing failure, working together with others — is a central part of growing up. That all feels like I can lessons.