Why COVID is Triggering My Childhood Need to Be a "Good Girl."

Growing up, I wanted to be a good girl. To do so, I knew I would have to follow all the rules—if I did, then no one could punish me, and I would never have to face disappointment. I looked for rules everywhere—in my parent’s verbal and non-verbal cues, in their reactions to my behavior, and in their interactions with each other. Through careful deciphering and child-like deliberation, I created an imaginary rubric of what I concluded to be the “rules.”

As hard as I tried, I sometimes felt like I didn’t know what the rules really were. My mom and dad had different approaches to setting and enforcing rules. My young brain couldn’t interpret which set of rules to follow or not follow, nor piece together how their styles may have been complimentary instead of contradictory.

There was also very little arguing in my house, so it was unclear if and when rules were broken or not. I could guess when my mom was mad at my dad, but never really be certain. Did that face say anger? Or boredom? Does that tone of voice mean disappointment, or confusion? I wasn’t sure. 

This is not to say my parents did anything wrong—they were being humans in the world exactly as they knew how to be. And as a little human in the world, I observed, took mental notes, and did my best to form pathways for how I was meant to behave.

My desire to be a good girl pressed on through adolescence, and when I couldn’t decipher the rules of my surroundings, I started to create my own rules to protect myself from failure.

The older I got, the more anxious I became about not being good enough. I created stricter rules and grew hypervigilant in the pursuit of learning the rules around me. If I had rules I could follow, I could calm the constant fear and panic around breaking the rules, and ultimately being a “bad girl.” 

As an adult, I crave rules. When I don’t have them, I panic—I start to fear I will break invisible rules, someone will be mad at me, and my worst fear will be realized: I’m not a good girl after all. 

This ranges from not knowing the rules of a board game to not knowing the social and cultural rules of a new city. Disappointment, disrespect, pain, anger, and dislike are among the scariest emotions I could fathom causing someone. I avoid them at all costs.

Right now, the rules are unpredictably ambiguous, and my inner child is having a full-blown meltdown. 

Between social-distancing, quarantine, and flattening the curve, the rules make absolutely no sense. They are clear, but there is much to be read between the lines. They are broad, yet somehow specific. Some are only suggestions, ideas, or theories. 

Wash your hands. Wear a face mask. Don’t wear a face mask. Stay 6ft from people. Wash door handles, sanitize food, don’t touch your face. You don’t have to sanitize clothes. Wash everything. Avoid travel, but immediately return home if you’re in a foreign country. 

The more rules, the more room for error. The more contradictory the rules, the more confusion around how to follow them. The less I know how to follow the rules and be a “good girl,” the more anxious I become.

Which rules do I follow? What rules am I missing that I might break? If I have to sanitize everything, am I sanitizing every time I touch anything? Am I supposed to sanitize my sheets? Do I need to wash my mouth with soap? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE GOOD IF I DON’T KNOW THE RULES?

I want to be a responsible human. I want to care for myself, others, and the survival of our planet. I want to offer support and love to those who are anxious or scared. I chose to socially distance even though Indonesia didn’t ask us to. I stay 6ft from people and wash my hands and count to 20. I wear masks if I go in public, but I really don’t even go out in public anymore. I want to be a moral human being, and, my urge to perfect these rules is intrinsically attached to my inner child’s desire to be a good girl.

I started to panic HARD last week. Not knowing every single rule triggered so much fear for me. I started to feel like nothing I did would be enough. That no matter how hard I followed the rules, there would be rules I would break. That new rules would come up before I could know about them, and inevitably, I would break them. That if I broke rules before I knew they existed, I wouldn’t be able to prove that I just didn’t know the rules yet, and someone somewhere would say, “Why aren’t you taking this more seriously?” 

As the anxiety swelled in me, I realized that what was happening was not fear about getting Coronavirus or infecting others. Yes, that fear existed, but it wasn’t what caused my body to flood with adrenaline and my face to feel like it was drowning. 

The anxiety was directly tethered to the deep, internal fear of being reprimanded, of disappointing others, or of being bad.

I softened when I realized this. I felt sad for that little girl, who so desperately wanted to be a good girl, but never felt like anything she did was enough. Who still holds on to so much fear, and hides deep inside me, barricaded behind the cage of rules she’s constructed for herself.

I understand her fear. There is a lot of anger in the world. A lot of disappointment. A lot of shame and admonishment. She has a right to be afraid. But she also has a right to leave her cage. 

I have learned in the last year how difficult it is for me to engage with anger. How difficult it is for me to feel, express, observe, or receive anger. I avoid the emotion at all costs—both feeling and witnessing it. I have grown so afraid of anger that I have convinced myself that if it arises in me or in someone else, it will never go away.

My therapist has asked my husband and me to practice “not walking on eggshells.” We are literally practicing getting mad at each other, being messy, and expressing anger at one another. She wants us to learn that anger is no more powerful than any other emotion—just like sadness, joy, anxiety—anger rises, affects our physiology, pinnacles, then falls. And just like any other emotion, there are ways to repair and recover after experiencing it.

By shielding myself so fixedly against anger or any subset of that emotion, I have grown to believe there is no such recovery. 

But there is. 

I can make a mistake, hurt someone’s feelings, piss someone off, or be disappointed in myself. And those emotions will pass. Doing something wrong does not brand me as a bad person for life. Humans have capacity for forgiveness and acceptance. For compassion and empathy. We are not perfect beings, and to expect that of ourselves and others only perpetuates the hurtful cycle of our little girls believing they will never be good enough.

So, I tended to my inner child. 

I leaned into the fear of being bad, and told my inner child, “darling, I know it’s very confusing right now. You aren’t the only one who is a little lost. You are being so brave, and you are doing so great. You are a really good girl, and you are doing the best you can in these circumstances. If you make a mistake, you are still so lovely and good. I love you very much.”

Once I soothed my inner child, following a set of “grey area” rules felt less-anxiety provoking. Yes, the “rules” are unclear, yes the “rules” keep changing, and yes, the “rules” are confusing and sometimes hard to follow. And I am doing the best I can.