I have always been an awful speller. As I’ve gotten older and more practiced, I have improved. But as a young child, spelling was often a disaster for me. When I tried spelling words that were difficult for me, words that I didn’t know right off the bat, I would try to say them in my head and spell them based on how I heard them. The unfortunate part of that little spelling trick was that I grew up in East Tennessee. This means I had the rather thick accent that comes naturally in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. That being said, it wasn’t uncommon for me to make less than perfect scores on spelling tests.
Even more dreaded than spelling tests, however, was the annual Spelling Bee. I hated the Spelling Bee. It started out in individual classrooms, where each of the students would compete. We would stand and go around the room spelling increasingly more difficult words. If you spelled a word incorrectly, you sat down. This pattern continued until only one person remained standing in the room. That person was then sent on to the school-wide Spelling Bee, where the whole school was assembled to watch the debacle. Students from each grade level were lined up in the gymnasium and brought forward to the podium on their turn. If you misspelled a word, you were sent to sit with your classmates in the bleachers. Finally, one student would remain and be crowned champion over the Spelling Bee.
By the time I made it to the fourth grade, I had given up any dream I’d ever had at competing in the school-wide Spelling Bee. I never made it out of the classroom round. And often times I would be among the first in the classroom round to find my seat. This year was different, however. Why? At one point, I looked around the classroom and suddenly it hit me. Over half the students had been seated, and I was still standing. Somehow, I had spelled every word thus far correctly.
As the next few students sat, my anxiety began to grow. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the year that I would go on to the school-wide Spelling Bee. Perhaps this could be the year that all my spelling woes were washed away. And I wanted that so badly. I wanted to prove myself.
I didn’t know it at the time, of course, but it all came down to answering the question, “What am I worth?” In that moment, how I answered this question was directly correlated to the Spelling Bee. I had created a worldview at this point in life that said that I my worth was directly tied to my performance. If I performed well, I was worthy of praise. I was “good enough.” But if I performed poorly, I was not worthy. In fact, I often viewed myself as a disgrace if I performed poorly at something. This is the reason I so hated the Spelling Bee. I felt worthless because of my past performances. But this time, I was convinced things were going to be different.
It came down to the last two students in the room, myself and one other. I don’t remember who the other classmate was that I was competing against. But I do remember that they missed their word. I don’t remember what word that was. But I do remember that I spelled it correctly.
I was ecstatic, and a little in shock. I had never made it past the halfway point in the classroom round let alone won the thing. After the shock and amazement wore off, though, my anxiety peaked again. It began to dawn on me that this victory meant that I would be going on to compete in front of the whole school.
I studied like mad. I remember my mother quizzing me on different words. I learned new words simply for the sake of learning how to spell them. My drive to prove myself to myself as someone worthy fueled my study habits. I wasn’t convinced I could win the school-wide Spelling Bee, but as I grew more confident in my abilities, I also wasn’t completely convinced that I couldn’t win.
Finally, the day arrived. I lined up with the other grade-level winners in the gymnasium and prepared for the first round. Two students were ahead of me in the line, and they both spelled their words correctly and with ease. I watched the student before me come back to their seat, and I knew that my time had come. I stood on shaky knees and wiped my sweaty palms on my pant leg. I walked forward carefully until I came up to the makeshift podium in the middle of the gym floor. I felt the weight of what felt like hundreds of eyes on me. I looked to the moderator and nodded. I was ready.
“Send.”
That was my word. An easy one. Except for the fact that I grew up in East Tennessee, and I have that thick Appalachian accent.
“Sinned.”
That’s what I spelled. In my anxious state, I had forgotten to ask the moderator to use the word in a sentence. So I spelled the first thing that came to my mind that sounded right in my head.
The moderator’s mouth thinned into a line and she bowed her head to shake it. “Incorrect.” The pronouncement hit me like a ton of bricks. I had been convinced I was right! And I was, but for the wrong word. It felt like my stomach fell to my shoes while my head simultaneously began to swim. This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t really be the very first person to sit down in the school-wide Spelling Bee over a mistake like this. I couldn’t really have just spelled a word wrong right off the bat in front of the entire school.
But I did. The reality of it began to sink in as I made the longest walk of my life back to the bleachers. I had failed.
At this point in my life, my worldview created a fine line between the questions “Who am I?” and “What am I worth?” For instance, if I was a success, then I was worthy of love or praise. If I was a failure, then I was not worthy. The feeling of worthlessness crept into my heart as I walked back to the bleachers that day.
I sat and stared blankly as the rest of the Spelling Bee unfolded. I don’t remember who actually won that year. All I remember is the embarrassment and shame, the feeling of failure, and the utter sense of worthlessness.
Today, I laugh about that spelling blunder. My family likes to good-naturedly poke fun at me over it, and I’ve learned to take their joking in stride. But if I’m honest with myself, on my worst days I am still that little fourth grade kid wanting to prove herself. When I’m feeling lowest, I still think that if I can just perform well enough, be “good enough” in whatever I set my hand to, that I will somehow be worthy. On my good days, however, I’ve grown. I think of my worth as tied to something, and Someone, bigger than my performance.