I'm Smarter Than Most People.

I can't believe I just said that! What kind of person, no what kind of woman, would believe she was smarter than most people? That is a statement of such hubris. No one could love a person, no a woman, who thought that.

I was put in "Gifted and Talented Education" in the 4th grade. My dad explained it was a program for people with no social skills. He repeated this over and over till I called him on it last month. When I had my first letter to the editor published, at 11, protesting the funding of contra-aid in Nicaragua and comparing the history of our involvement there to our involvement in the Philippines, the head of the journalism department at the local college wrote to tell me I should be a journalist. And my dad said "he thought there would be something wrong, but he wasn't ashamed or anything."

If I'd argue facts. He'd reply: "Is it better to be right than to be loved?" Obviously, no one could love a person, no a woman, who was right. And so I'd try to ignore facts. Giggle and ask a question. Or state something I thought right, but with an ever-escalating pitch. So if I said "well, I think Reaganomics is increasing social stratification" I'd inflect it like "Omigod you guys, want to go to the mall!?" And then I'd say "but that's just my opinion--I'm probably wrong. What do I know? Sorry."

I took an IQ test 2 times--146 & 154. Now, of course those tests are biased. It doesn't measure physical ability, or musical ability or emotional IQ or any of Gardner's multiple intelligences. My father told me, often, and surprisingly common for a man who graduated with a doctorate from one of the top 5 programs in the country, that IQ didn't matter. Over and over. But deep down, I still believed I was smarter than most people, and I also believed that this primarily served to make me unlovable.

By 20, I was a TA for college courses. My GRE scores qualified me for Mensa--I didn't mean to know that--I never tried to get in. I read it accidentally in the back of a magazine. I thought about going to a Mensa thing so that I'd fit in, but I didn't want to be like that.

I spent my 20s trying to hide the fact I was smart. My father explained that numerous post-graduate degrees just showed I didn't know how to navigate in the real world, so I'd dismiss them with a giggle. If someone found out. I actually did a number of job applications where I left off all the letters except my B.A. (Not in my career, just in day jobs, but still.) I studied how to act dumb. I'm also blond, with a relatively high-pitched voice, so that didn't hurt the perception. A problem developed, repeatedly, however: I hated people assuming I was dumb. I hated myself for not being able to be myself and I hated other people for believing it.

Now, I know there are lots of different ways of processing information. I happen to be good at thinking the way our society tends to reward. I have a lousy sense of pitch. I'm not athletic. I let my sense of 'facts' and 'right & wrong' cloud emotional needs of people. But, it is statistically true that I am smarter than most people in the way our society tends to measure. That doesn't mean I'm better. And I honestly would change it if I could. Ideally, I'd like to be in the top 10%, not the top 1%. But it is just who I am. If I had been taller than most people, I wouldn't view it as being superior--just a fact. Why it become so hard to accept this fact, not make it a bigger deal than it is, but also not deny my perception of reality, I don't know. I really believed, for a very long time, that it made me essentially unlovable. And no man will argue with a woman over whether she is worthy of love.

None of my friends understand why I stayed with my ex for as long as I did. But he liked the fact I was smart. He revelled in it. And he thought I was sexy looking. My two greatest flaws (my looks and my mind) and he said "me likey!" We were great friends, even if we weren't compatible on a number of core issues. But that profoundly healed the absolutely certainty inside that I was unlovable. He taught me that I could be myself and be loved. What a gift!

Just to be fair: my dad is actually a wonderful human being, and I hate that I have unresolved issues with him. Part of the reason I do is that he is a really wonderful friend and parent and I idealized him until recently. If I'd started to unravel the few places he sabotaged me (as do all parents, no matter how well-meaning) at a developmentally appropriate time, like as a teenager when most people do, I'd be more balanced here. But he isn't at all the ogre I make him out to be. He would be the first to say "I goofed up there--do you want to go to therapy together and talk about this?" My problem is I hate doing therapy, especially with my parents. If you met him, you'd think he was truly an amazing man.