So colour me surprised when, one day, a Slack message from a colleague and friend of mine, our senior columnist Lin Suling, popped up:
Suling: oh I finally found the word to describe your writing! after listening and watching alot of Charli XCX this week (for work) the word is... BRAT
Diane: hahahahahhaha. i actly don’t know what that means
And after being warned that Google may not have the most accurate definition, here’s what I learnt what being a brat means. It’s a “compliment towards a person or action emulating confident rebellion, playful defiance and boldness”.
Brat summer may be over, according to Charli XCX, but the lingo’s legacy lives on.
What’s funny though is that just a few years ago, the words “rebellion”, “playful defiance” and even “boldness” could not be used to describe me. Being a people pleaser was the only way I knew to navigate this world. I took pride in being a yes woman, in service of those who needed me, and thought this was the best way to live.
Nudged to change
What was the turning point then? one may ask. Instead of a singular event, it was a series of nudges that shifted my perspective – about who I am and what I stand for.
I will qualify that these were very millennial struggles that could be chalked up to a quarter-life crisis. What emerged, however, was a version of myself I liked a whole lot more, a willingness to acknowledge my humanity, and a fresh resolve to mean what I do, do what I mean, and be a woman of my word.
The first was work burnout. Years of being hyperconnected to social media, Slack and phone notifications finally took their toll when I found myself completely unable to get out of bed. Once considered a myth in my books, I now had to admit that even the best of us (and I most certainly was not the best in any way) had to admit defeat.
My doctor hilariously prescribed me long walks and time away from my phone, which I had to laugh bitterly at – those were two things I wasn’t particularly good at, nor enjoyed. But the reality is that if we do not put the brakes on ourselves and know when to stop, our bodies will do it for us, in one way or another.
The second was contending with the very real threat of losing two people close to my heart, thanks to cancer. While this did not ignite a sudden zest for life, nor a quest for purpose, it did bring a sense of clarity about how I spend my time. Do I say “yes” to engagements I don’t really want to be at? If not, why am I choosing to be disengaged? Conversely, am I saying “no” to invitations or opportunities because of fear, or a belief that I do not belong? What would it take for me to be truly here for those that I love, in every way possible?
And the third was meeting my husband, who has as strong a personality as they come. After being happily single for 27 years, I found the need to explain my thoughts and opinions to someone I loved and could spend the rest of my life with. And in any committed relationship, being true to your word would be vital to keep it alive, I’d assume. While two strong personalities do make for very interesting – and sometimes slightly heated – conversations, I was (and still am!) glad to have found someone to banter and verbally spar with while continually learning about him and the world.
Strength in my weakness
For a long time, I was bent on covering up my weaknesses with, well, more work, prayer, counselling or simply hiding them. And while I’d heard the ancient saying “strength is made perfect in weakness” a thousand times before – either from the pulpit of a church or from a beautifully designed quote on Instagram – I had never quite grasped the essence of it.
The chase for perfection – or the perception of it – was futile, I soon realised. When I could no longer hide my burnout, when my insecurity snuck through in an unnecessarily hurtful comment, when I could no longer fake it till I made it, I had to admit that I’d come to the end of myself.
What, then, was left?
Quite ironically, I found freedom.
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The journey to becoming a brat took practice. I decided to keep promises to myself – get to the gym when I said I would. Wake up early to eat breakfast instead of skipping it at the last minute. Make an appointment and show up.
I decided to speak up – not that this gives me licence to dismiss others. It gave me the impetus to shape my opinions in socially acceptable ways, and minimise regrets from keeping quiet.
And last, but not least, I decided to “own my ratchet-ness”, in the words of my husband. In admitting my faults and flaws, I could spend my energies on building on my strengths, and possibly improving on my weaknesses – without covering them up.
But I needed to know I was not making this up in my head. And thankfully acclaimed American researcher Brene Brown – who has decades of research to back this up – said famously in her book Braving The Wilderness: “True belonging is the spiritual practice of believing in and belonging to yourself so deeply that you can share your most authentic self with the world and find sacredness in both being a part of something and standing alone in the wilderness. True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.”
It would be remiss of me to not pay homage to the original brat I know: my father. He is a man of his word, sometimes to a fault. He never did anything out of popularity or clout, but instead carefully engineered his life to align with his values.
In a world where belonging is commonly associated with fitting in, and standing out can be seen as a sign of rebellion, I wonder if brat summer (or autumn, or winter) is a reminder that, if we are unclear about who we are or what we do, belonging is not something we can fully find in others.
But if we take the time, ask ourselves the hard questions, and be a proud brat, then belonging can be found first within ourselves. That, in my view, is a great gift we can give ourselves. And perhaps a tantrum-ing toddler, when they are old enough.
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