The Bird That Walks

I am a duality

Ashley Sudeta

I’m sure I didn’t actually commit the most evil action of my life at the age of five, but recently I’ve begun taking a few minutes each day to consider it. When I was in preschool, I was one of two girls on a co-ed baseball team. Our games were held at a small field next to a creek, and the outfield would become overrun with tiny frogs whenever it rained. One day, I arrived at the game to find my teammates huddled in the outfield, shouting excitedly—they had found a frog! Wanting to impress the others, I made my way to the center of the crowd, up towards the frog. I then proceeded to stomp on the critter, announcing, “Stupid frog! Let’s play baseball!” to my screaming peers. Yes, I was wearing cleats. Yes, children cried. No, I did not receive the validation of my toughness and dedication to baseball that I desired. Sixteen years later, I still remember choosing to step on that frog, and I can’t help but feel completely immoral when I think about it.

Maybe 5-year-olds are too young to be faulted for the animals they kill, but the point isn’t that I did something wrong, it’s that I still find myself ruminating about it. Everyone has “frog moments,” things they’ve done that stick in their consciousness and make them question their own morality. It’s important we learn to live with our regrets, not letting them impede our functioning or interfere with our sense of self. We have to sit in that duality and understand it’s part of being human. In our cruelty and kindness, we are like birds that are capable of both walking and flight.

Some people think of guilt as a productive emotion, one that helps us take better actions as we move forward. I used to think the same way, and, from a logical standpoint, it seems true: you feel ashamed, so you do better. However, beating yourself up might not be the key to self-improvement. In his book “Unlearning Shame,” social psychologist Dr. Devon Price describes how feelings of shame and guilt evolved as a protective measure. They make us close in on ourselves to the point of shutting down and becoming inactive. The bird doesn’t start flying—it stops doing anything at all. Price proposes radical self-acceptance as the solution—you can’t try to fight the worst parts of yourself, you have to learn to live with them. Treating yourself with forgiveness and grace allows the protective walls of guilt to come down. Living with every part of yourself, not just the good parts, gives you the opportunity to try to be better and let your bird take flight.

Being mindful of the “terrible” things we’ve done can help us maintain awareness of our opportunities for growth. At the end of the day, my five-year-old self killed a frog to try to fit in with a baseball team full of boys, and, in the many years since, there have been countless other instances where I’ve betrayed my values in an attempt to fit in. The actions I take to impress others often end up as the ones I regret the most. Reflecting on the times I’ve sacrificed authenticity for a shot at being liked reminds me it’s not worth compromising my identity for others. Each time I’ve messed up has served as a sharp prod towards being a more open and authentic version of myself.

Self-forgiveness is hard, but you have to see past your flaws, it’s ultimately the best choice. You’re capable of many things and goodness is one of them. I’ve had a lot of “frog moments,” but I’ve also done a lot of things I should be proud of. I’ve learned to be honest with my family, I’ve carved a place for myself at one of the largest universities in the U.S., and I work at a magazine where I’m constantly pushed to keep growing. I’m smart, funny, and—on occasion—a talented writer. Yes, I’ve been awful, but that will never be the only thing I am. I’m not good or evil; I’m a bird.