Will the Real Slim Shady Please Stand Up?

We all craft different versions of ourselves, both past or present. The good and the bad. Which one is truly you? As for me...well, you'll just have to keep reading.

May I have your attention, please?
May I have your attention, please?
Will the real Slim Shady please stand up?
I repeat, will the real Slim Shady please stand up?
We're gonna have a problem here

We’ll start with a fun fact because we’re getting heavy this week. Fun fact: I know all of the lyrics to this song and like to rap it at Karaoke. I am also an absolute whiz at his song Drug Ballad, which is my fourth favorite song of all time.

This song came out in 2000, my freshman year of high school. I was fifteen years old and experiencing my first big transformation. You see, before high school I was a nerd. Kind of a loser. I did theater, didn’t do sports at school (other than the ultimate nerd sport: cross country), and was definitely not popular. And that was all I wanted - popularity.

My first day of high school I wore these skin-tight faux snakeskin pants, a black tank top and platform shoes. I looked like I was about to go clubbing. I looked like I wanted attention, which I most certainly did. And like most things I do, it was a raging success.

All I had to do to become popular was to get the attention of the upperclassmen boys, hence the snakeskin pants. As soon as I started dating a senior, the popular girls in my grade wanted to be my friends. I quickly shed my prior friend group, and attached myself to the popular kids. I was no longer “loser Lindsey”, I was “popular Lindsey”.

Popular Lindsey put on makeup and adopted a hive mentality. Not a single thought in my head was my own. I remember a friend telling me that she liked the new PT Cruisers and while I thought they were heinous, I told her that I also liked them. I now also liked NFL football and country music. Why? Because that’s what the popular kids liked. I didn’t have my own opinions. I was having whatever they were having.

Pre-popularity Lindsey. December, 1998

This one decision, to chase popularity and value it over the friendships that I had, changed the course of my life. The people who truly knew me and loved me were gone, replaced by people who just wanted to use me.

By my senior year, they had torn me to pieces with lies and rumors. Drummed up drama that I can’t even remember. It all culminated our senior year when I was passed a note by one of these “friends” and told to go to the girl’s bathroom. They stormed out of our AP English class after me to have a gigantic fight in the girl’s bathroom. It was an ambush. I sobbed like my life was ruined. One of those friendships took a few years to die, but I never trusted any of them ever again.

And Dr. Dre said, nothing, you idiots
Dr. Dre's dead, he's locked in my basement (ha ha)

Then there was college Lindsey, which can be split into freshman Lindsey and the rest of college. Freshman Lindsey was ridiculously happy. 2003/2004 Lindsey had everything she’d ever wanted. But at the start of my sophomore year, I lost cheer after being cut from the team, and gained a boyfriend.

Mitch (not his real name) was everything I thought I wanted: tall, funny, life of the party. We seemed like such a good fit. I think what I liked most about Mitch in those early months was the fact that he was obsessed with me.

Remember, it’s 2004. We don’t have words like “love bomb” to describe the constant texts and emails. The roses. The poems. The love songs written just for me. Burned CDs with a compilation of music he knew I liked. And ultimately, the plan to propose after college. It would be a grand declaration of love - he was going to rent a movie theater just for us and show me a video compilation of our lives. We would have kids and live happily ever after. I fell for it hook, line and sinker. He had me. And once he had me, he wasn’t going to let go.

After that, it was two years of abuse. I’ve had years of therapy to try and describe it in a way that makes sense. But it’s hard to articulate because it wasn’t physical. A part of me wishes it had been, so I would have what everyone wanted from me. Evidence. But I didn’t have that.

All I had was insomnia.

All I had was bulimia.

All I had was my tanking report card.

I had clothes that hung off me.

I had my hair falling out.

I had raging anxiety.

I had endless tears.

I had alcohol.

Feminist women love Eminem
"Chicka, chicka, chicka, Slim Shady, I'm sick of him
Look at him, walkin' around, grabbin' his you-know-what
Flippin' the you-know-who"
"Yeah, but he's so cute though"

Mitch was much too smart to leave marks that could be seen. It was death by a thousand cuts. I was locked in his apartment, called names, cheated on, belittled and gaslit to the point that I couldn’t trust myself. And it was all my fault. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell anyone what I went through - what he put me through. And that’s coming from the person who apparently shares everything. Hence this Substack. But that whole story - you’ll probably never hear.

Kind of out of context but just a picture I love of Sarah and I doing “lemon and lion”

Not even Janet (my therapist) has heard it all. And honestly, I’m not sure I could tell you about it because I can’t remember a lot if it. I have a lot of blank spaces from those years, like ink blots on a canvas that should have been painted with the best years of my life. As if my brain is still protecting me, even after all this time.

After we broke up, he started stalking me while simultaneously wooing a new unsuspecting girl. He would show up outside my house and yell up at my window. One night he woke me up, so I peaked out at him. It was around 2AM, as if he’d come to my house straight from the bars.

He was standing in the middle of the street screaming that he was going to hurt himself unless I let him in. I flipped him off and he punched a car window, shattering it and getting glass stuck in his hand. It took everything I had not to let him in and comfort him. Pick glass out of his hand. Thankfully, he went home voluntarily and never came back.

Years later, when I was in law school, the girl that he dated after me reached out. We sat in a Starbucks while saying things like, “did he promise you this, too?” and “did he do this to you, too?” and “why didn’t you leave?” and “does it ever get better?”

The stories she told me about their relationship were my stories. Down to the plan to propose in a movie theater. The song he told me that he’d written for me, he sang for her. The words he used to make me feel small, were now written in her story. Those hours we sat talking were like stepping back in time and reliving a nightmare. I left that Starbucks and walked across the street to a bar called Jack & Dan’s and proceeded to get blitzed. I could no longer hide from the reality of what had happened: I’d been in an abusive relationship. And that wasn’t something I was ready to face. Certainly not sober, at least.

My Mitch years, sophomore and junior year, were consumed by him. My senior year was consumed by this fun game where I would see how long I could go without consuming food. And then there was law school which we’re definitely not talking about. Let’ just say, all this bullshit had a compounding effect.

This era of my life, from 19-25, was rough. It was as if I were surrounded by a fog. I wasn’t making good decisions and I didn’t care. I didn’t feel much at all. Weird choices, hurting people. If you knew me during those years, there’s a good chance I owe you an apology. Chances are, it wasn’t super pleasant to know me.

And there's a million of us just like me
Who cuss like me, who just don't give a fuck like me
Who dress like me, walk, talk and act like me
And just might be the next best thing, but not quite me

But then I moved home to take a job. I became “lawyer Lindsey.” Serious and dedicated to her job. Lawyering centered me and in a way. I was too busy to be out destroying myself and others. Plus, I was back home. I was in Cashmere. My safe place. Whenever I needed to be reminded of who I truly was, I always just went home. To the town that raised me.

At 26 I met Coby and he brought out everything about myself that I liked. I was laughing more, insanely happy, and taking care of myself. It was as if dating Coby allowed me to shed the regrets and mistakes, and explore who I wanted to become.

I’m so grateful for that. Coby’s always given me the space to try on different hobbies, supported me when I stopped drinking, came to my CrossFit competitions, helped me open a gym, supported my transition from big law to a small firm, and has never once complained. I’ve been at least three different people while we’ve known each other and he’s loved each and every one.

At Lake Chelan

I'm like a head trip to listen to, 'cause I'm only givin' you
Things you joke about with your friends inside your livin' room
The only difference is I got the balls to say it in front of y'all
And I don't gotta be false or sugarcoat it at all

My thirties were, for the most part, spectacular. It wasn’t until around 32 that I felt like I was settled into my own skin. Done with trying to mold myself into someone that people would love. I was able to shake off the other versions of myself that I had tried on and emerge as a whole person. Someone that I loved.

I had also stopped trying to avoid what I’d been through. I wasn’t picking myself apart anymore. It was as if all of my separate versions had merged into me, revealing who I truly was:

Strong.

Smart.

Incredible.

Funny.

Devastatingly gorgeous.

Well dressed.

And….most importantly….insufferable.

And every single person is a Slim Shady lurking
He could be working at Burger King, spittin' on your onion rings
Or in the parking lot, circling, screaming, "I don't give a fuck"
With his windows down and his system up

So, why am I telling you all of this? Yesterday I did a meditation on the Peloton app. It was with Kirra Michel and labeled “10 min Kindness Meditation”. The kindness that we focused on was kindness to ourselves. Specifically, all of the versions of ourselves that needed to be loved.

A few minutes into the session, Kirra says this:

“Perhaps younger versions of yourself are begging for your love and attention. For your kindness and compassion. It’s easy to turn away, to avoid. Yet it takes courage to face your shadow selves. The parts of ourselves we struggle with. It takes courage to face your shadow selves. It takes courage to be kind to these parts of yourself. I know that you are a courageous soul.”

We all have a version of ourself that we turn away from, or try to forget. For me, it’s the version who abandoned her middle school friends and chose instead to chase popularity. It’s the version of myself who took Mitch’s abuse and called it love. It’s the Lindsey who chose to deal with that pain by hurting herself and others.

Those shadow selves deserve my kindness and compassion. They deserve to come out of the dark. Maybe in the light of day, those versions can be seen as growth. Everything I went through got me to here. And let me tell you: here is fantastic.

I am a courageous soul. I love myself. Even the versions of that self which are hard to look back at. Ultimately, I am proud to be this version of myself: outta my mind and outta control.

So will the real Shady please stand up
And put one of those fingers on each hand up?
And be proud to be outta your mind and outta control
And one more time, loud as you can, how does it go?

Remember, stay difficult and always question authority.