"One Size Fits All" Isn't The Case.

One of my favorite "emo" songs is "Puzzle Pieces" by Framing Hanley. It is an anthem I know well and is a truism for many of us at various points in our lives. There is always somewhere you won't belong even if you force it. The idea of a "One Size Fits All" or "One Size Fits Most" when it comes to life just isn't the case, and it is time to break that stigma. It may work for hats, but life isn't a hat. Even with hats, we all know someone with a big enough head no hat can possibly fit. (I'm talking about ego here.)

I was marked to be different. From the time I was born, my "irregularities" already existed. My mother was shocked to see a large birthmark over my right eye after I was delivered. She hoped it was a light red one that would fade with time, but it wasn't. It grew with me instead. I had a foot that turned the wrong direction too. My mom was shocked when the doctor instructed her to buy two pairs of the same shoe and put left shoes on both of my feet to correct the turning. Thus, I started out life with an eye patch and two left feet.

My foot issue became less noticeable. My eye though, was another matter. I was always asked about it. From the time I was able to speak, I was sick of explaining. My mom remembers several embarrassing occasions because of my responses. A cashier asked three-year-old me what was wrong with my eye. My response was, "What's wrong with your hair?" When I was interviewed for Kindergarten, I was excited to see that my teacher had a mole on her nose. I thought she would understand and not ask me about my eye. I was wrong. My response was, "What is that on your face? It's big." My mother wanted to "crawl under the table and die." I was always in trouble with my Kindergarten teacher, rarely visited the prize box, and am now an infamous legend to her new students. (This I know from my younger cousins who later had her in class. At least I wasn't so bad I caused her to quit teaching, right?)

After Kindergarten, the school staff recommended that I should skip a grade level. My cousin had skipped first grade previously, and my mother was concerned it would "make me socially awkward just like him", so she declined the school's recommendations. Despite her efforts, my cousin and I had the same close friends all through middle school and high school. I even graduated from college the same year he did, so I skipped a year anyway. I laugh at the irony. Some things you'll never change about someone else no matter how hard you resist them, and that is okay. Did she like my friends? No. Were my friends mature? No. Were they weird? Yes. Were they good people who have been trustworthy, loyal, and good to me? Absolutely. They are my people!

Dad was cool with my uniqueness. My grandmother and mother were not. I was obsessed with Hercules. Mom directed me toward Xena Warrior Princess and then Megara from the Disney version. Dad made me my very own wooden sword and bought a breastplate and shield. I played with the sword and wore breastplate and shield frequently to my mother and grandmother's disapproval.

My gender toy preference had many people in my family directing my attention toward more "girly" things, but to no avail. He had no issue trading in my McDonalds Barbie toys for Hot Wheels cars. He always said, "just leave her be, she'll be fine" , and he was right.

Regardless, they still tried to teach me to be "a lady." They wished I was like my cousins and reminded me I was a girl frequently (as if I'd forget). They would fix my hair only for me to dishevel it. When I was old enough, I chose a short pixie style haircut that made me look like a pre-teen boy. I felt more like myself and more comfortable with short hair, and still do.

My mother did not feel comfortable with it. I was called a boy nearly everywhere we went and treated like one sometimes. My male friends considered me "one of the guys." They didn't hide anything from me, which made me feel special. Mom and other family had concerns about my sexuality. Threats like, "You'll never get a boyfriend if you don't wear make-up or dress like a girl" and "everyone will think you're gay" did not matter to me though. If they can't accept me as I am, I don't want a relationship with them. My grandmother begrudgingly called me our "different" girl regarding my uncontrollable individuality.

In middle school, I was a geeky tomboy. I wore men's basketball shorts and had my first pair of glasses. The year I started middle school was also the year I had surgery to remove my birthmark. By that time, I didn't want it removed. The surgeon explained that it was a significant cancer risk, so it had to be removed. I was attending a new school. Most kids stayed away from me or thought I was weird because I had stitches and bruising above my eye. In combination with my unique fashion sense, few kids that age were accepting. I made a few friends in fifth-grade only for them to completely ignore me the year afterward. The explanation I received was, "you're boring and weird."

I was forced to make new friends, and found two during a sixth-grade math group project. All other groups were perfect pairs of two, and I was odd man out. The teacher squeezed me into a group of introverted smart kids, and we clicked. They told me they had always been afraid of me because of my eye, but that they were wrong. One of the girls became a lifelong friend. We visit each other and always pick up right where we left off no matter what changes in our lives.

I joined band in sixth-grade. Because I didn't join the year prior, many of my fellow band members were in fifth grade. Mom insisted I chose saxophone, clarinet, or flute. I chose to play trombone instead. I remember her saying, "You're really going to lug that big thing around on the bus." I did. Her complaints shortly turned into, "Well, at least you didn't pick a sousaphone."

Funnily enough, one of my close friends played the sousaphone. I fit in with the brass section, and acquired new friends. One played trumpet. He had speckled Harry Potter style glasses, only wore camo, and was already talking about joining the military when we met. His style would change drastically later. He dyed his hair a different color frequently, and traded his military crew cut for long hair past his shoulders. He would wear make-up, and go through a vampire phase. He was confused for the opposite gender just as frequently as I was based on his style choices and selections. People considered him a freak, but he was one of my closest friends. We wanted to start our own rock band together. I have several fond memories with him. Neither of us have changed all that much, and I'm always glad we were friends.

Another band friend was a shy, quiet, awkward fellow. He barely spoke to anyone else aside from me. He was the type that would rather fail an assignment than get up in front of the classroom to speak. I introduced him to the rest of my friends. He quit band shortly thereafter, but always kept in touch. When our grades ate lunch together, he always sat by me. Even when I was away at college, he would send me a message just to talk. He also wanted me to join swim team with him when we got to high school so he wouldn't be alone, and I would.

The third friend I made was the sousaphone player. We were both in sixth-grade, but didn't have any classes together previously. She laughed at me for my obsession with Gerard Way from My Chemical Romance, but she could never pronounce his name right. She was upset when I quit band to take other classes, but still spent time with me. She said she wished I was there when she fell down the bleachers with her sousaphone at the homecoming football game because she knew I would have made her feel better about it. Even when she "came out" in high school, she said she knew I wouldn't treat her differently. She felt comfortable around me, and considered me one of her most loyal friends. It felt good to hear that.

My band geek friends and I, what a bunch of misfits we all were! Misfits that didn't fit in anywhere else except with each other; and you know what? We were alright with that! What's the matter with misfits? That's where we fit in!

Kids thought I was weird all through middle school and high school. I dressed up as a mad scientist for Halloween and a group of students chuckled and shouted at me "It isn't career day." I was used to getting picked on. Other students didn't like the way I dressed. They didn't like my music. They didn't like the way I walked. They wrote "Erica Dyek-kid", a play on my last name and the slang term dyke, all over the windows on the bus and called me "Rick." I was considered a loser. However, I also knew that when they needed help with homework, they would probably come running to me.

I was appreciative of the friends I had. I often wondered if they were discriminated against because of me. Thankfully they weren't. Other students not in the "in" crowd knew I stood up for them and was honest when others started rumors. I guess that counteracted anything else they heard about me somehow, at least for the few that mattered and became my friends.

My mother wanted me to play sports to improve my sociability. I am athletically challenged, but was pressured to join softball. Our team was terrible. Another school's umpire said it was like watching "The Bad News Bears." Coach put me in to pinch hit, and I brought in the winning run for the SINGLE game we won that year. I felt pretty good, and thought it might not be a bad fit after all.

I played as catcher my sophomore year. My friend Min, a foreign exchange student from South Korea, joined the team that year too. The catching gear the school didn't fit me. I was a Goliath of a teenage girl from working in the hayfield and on the farm with my dad. The intake of meat and potatoes my grandmother threw at me didn't help my case much either. My Neanderthal genetics were accented by the new catching gear the school purchased on my behalf. When Min saw me, she refused to run to home plate because I looked "scary." I looked tough. No catcher on any other team looked like me. I wondered if I was the right fit, but surprisingly, I was good at the position.

Everyone on the team called me Iron Man for how tough I was after catching the rest of a game with the broken finger I received from hitting a rogue pitch. Others said it was because I ran awkwardly, like my legs were made of metal. Still, I was feeling happy listening to Three Days Grace and goofily rapping "I'm A Little Teapot" with one of my friends on the softball bus. When I got home, the first words out of Mom's mouth were "Are you an idiot or what?!" I laughed, and found out it was fractured so bad it would take six months to heal and might never look right.

The main thing I didn't like about softball was how senior players treated freshmen like dogs. This wasn't the case sophomore year, but by junior year, the softball girls had changed. New, "better" players had been recruited and made the team. A new coach was hired. The seniors and others bullied the freshmen girls. They even told one "She was a cancer. No one wanted her on the team." Her father had died from cancer just a few years prior. I said something to them as soon as I heard it, and the girl thanked me.

All the aggression those "mean girls" had toward the freshmen was then turned toward me. All the freshmen were left alone, but I was now bullied by even the new coach. I wasn't in the "in" crowd. When the coach made some derogatory comments about me in front of my family, my mom quit the team on my behalf and threw my freshly used uniform complete with socks in my coach's face. Looking back, that was really funny. My mom finally agreed to let me transfer schools. It took that incident to help her realize that people weren't kind to me there, except for a few close friends and teachers.

One of the few exceptions was the swim team that I was sad to say goodbye to my junior year. I had only joined for fun, personal fitness, and because my friend from band didn't want to join alone. The same friend quit after the first practice, but I continued. I met my coach, her daughter, and her daughter's friends and swiftly connected with them. The coach's daughter became one of my best friends. Oddly enough, she had skipped a grade, and had a crush on my same cousin who skipped first grade. Isn't it funny how we all became friends despite the stereotyping that we "would be socially behind"? I attended her sleepovers, and became the friend her mom, our coach, always counted on. She was one of the few friends that visited me even after I transferred schools.

When I transferred to a different school, I was immediately treated differently. People were kind to me. I remember a petite girl in 6" heels that showed me around my first day. She was about 5' 3" with the heels on. I helped her with trig class, and she introduced me to the friends she had in the same class. When we made origami boxes for Pi Day, everyone I helped with their homework had to help me fold my box! They knew I was different, but they accepted me for it! No one from this school made me feel awkward or bullied me. It was a huge contrast from my overall high school experience in prior years, and a nice reprieve.

Some of the friends I made senior year went to the same college I did. We would meet up on occasion, but I stayed in the dorms my freshman year. My roommates were all different. One was loud. One was reclusive. The other my dad noted carried a man's wallet when we moved in, and he assumed she was gay. I didn't assume. Carrying a wallet seemed more convenient than a purse, and I did it sometimes.

I introduced myself. The one who carried the wallet seemed easy-going and way more intelligent than me. We had several classes together, and we ate breakfast together. I always felt like I talked her ear off, but she apparently didn't mind. Even now, we still like and comment on each other's Facebook posts. She and her wife make a beautiful, perfect pair, and complement each other so well!

My reclusive roommate, was not as reclusive as first impressions after all. During introductions, she said "hi" then slammed her door in my face. I scratched my head, and my other roommates shrugged. She stayed in her ice-cold room. I could feel the draft coming from her room into mine. A few weeks passed and I heard a knock on my door. She looked frustrated and frantically handed me a bottle of Mountain Dew.

"See if you can open this, please!" she said.

"Uh, okay." I responded and twisted the top off, "Here you go."

"Wow! You really did it! I asked all the muscular, beefy guys I found on the way here and NONE of them could open it. It was on just as tight when I knocked on your door. I know because I checked. That's A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!"

I laughed and then she asked if she could repay me with some Chinese food. I didn't know what to order because I had never had Chinese. She squealed with joy and ordered several items to have me try. Little did I know that opening a bottle of Mountain Dew would lead to a great friendship.

She kept her room so cold because it was "good for her technology." She was obsessed with anime and I was too. She helped me through a rough break-up by taking me to an Anime Society meeting, and yelled at me to quit playing "emo music." When we were snowed in, she ordered pizza and we had an anime marathon watching Vandread. She was always joking about how masculine I was, and how I was "more manly" than many of the guys I dated. She was right about my favorite character being BC, and laughed hysterically when I found out it was the male spy under-cover as a female. She was proud of her pansexuality, and tried to get me to join the Gay Straight Alliance many times. The meetings never fit into my work and school schedule. We played pranks on our roommates. We performed skits with each other that people from all different floors would come to watch. Our friendship was weird, started out weird, and neither of us really fit society's definition of normal, but we agree that it is more fun not to fit in.

I met my husband in college at an interview for a school position. I walked in wearing a sweater vest, trench coat, and black boots up to my knees. I had a short bob haircut with bangs that made me look Dutch. I was all business. He thought I was "cute, but probably not into men; likely a computer nerd."

After speaking with me a few times, however, he realized he was wrong. We had trouble fitting in with the rest of our "Type A" co-workers, but we fit in well with together even when we had differences of opinion or disagreements. Everyone else we dated wanted us to fit their molds, but we didn't. We saw things others couldn't, understood each other in ways others didn't, and realized through our friendship that we fit together. He saw me for me. I saw him for him. Part of why we "fit in" with each other is because we know the art of "not fitting in."

When I met his parents, his dad talked about conspiracy theories like The Philadelphia Experiment, and Vietnam. I watched my future husband's face fill with horror, embarrassment, and undertones of anger. I laughed when we had a moment in private and said, "It's okay. Even if your parents were crazy, I'd still love you." I thought his dad was testing to see how open-minded I was. I passed the test. His dad was a total weirdo with wacky and far-out stories, but I enjoyed listening to them. Thus, in not fitting in, I fit in once more.

Upon graduating college, I entered the professional workforce as a case manager for a psychological facility. I was excited to work with children despite not having a childhood development degree. I wanted to help others and thought this was a perfect fit. As far as the children went, it appeared to be. My boss was excited to have me on board and even gave me more time off for my honeymoon than I requested. The first week I was included in a shopping trip for kid's snacks and supplies with the other case manager, therapists, and secretary. I thought I fit in.

The inclusion I had with my co-workers, however, wore off swiftly. My supervisor noticed, and mentioned that I should try to be more social with them by discussing topics and similar interests. I tried. We even liked the same music, but it didn't really change my situation. I told him I would try harder, and I did.

I enjoyed working with the children despite my co-workers telling me many of them were "lost causes." I recall one therapist saying, "Kids don't have any real problems, they just think they do. I wanted to work with veterans. THEY have real problems." The other case manager discussed unique attributes of the children in a negative light (sometimes even in front of the kids), and I would counter their points. That did not help my situation.

One observant child at the table we all shared said to me, "Why do you sit with us when the rest of your coworkers don't want anything to do with us? You're different from them somehow. They know it too, and that's why they don't include you. Don't you want to be included?"

I wasn't sure what to tell that child aside from, "Sometimes it is okay to be different, and I fit in with you don't I?" I smiled, but it hurt that even the children noticed. When that child saw me at Sam's Club a year later, she ran to hug me and excitedly told me about everything that had happened to her since we had last met. For me, that made being the odd man out worth it.

My supervisor was forced to realize my outcast status at our Halloween event. The Behavioral Health Technicians wore Batman and Robin for their costumes. The other case manager excitedly told everyone that she purchased Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume pieces for everyone on our team and handed the eye masks to everyone but me.

Our boss seemed surprised and said, "So, who is Erica going to be since there are only four costumes?"

Her response "Oh, I guess she can be the friend. I can't remember her name."

"What friend? You mean April?" he asked.

"Yeah, she can be her."

My supervisor sighed, and sat down with me shortly thereafter. It was a hard conversation, but one I appreciate him for having with me. He said he knew how hard I worked for the kids. He noted that it was through no fault of my own that I wasn't fitting in, and he had seen me trying. The others just didn't get it, and he was now forced to realize that. He warned me about getting too emotionally attached to the children. Because of my attachments and relatability I was investing too much into my job and it was hurting me. He thankfully added that he hated to lose a worker like me, but he wanted me to be happy. He offered me a new position working with adults where I could separate my emotional investment, and I took him up on his offer.

I arrived at the main center in time for their Halloween event. A beautiful, kind, soul greeted me then handed me a fake mustache with a smile. She was holding several cardboard costumes in her other hand and passing them around to everyone who wanted one in the office. "I probably bought too many, but I wanted everyone who didn't bring a costume to have one if they wanted to celebrate."

I was shocked at the stark contrast in co-workers. I thought working with adults seemed like it would be tougher and jade someone quicker. Instead, I met a humorous cat-loving fellow, a fiery red-head who made you laugh with her rants, and the gentle-hearted woman who included others. My boss was fine with whatever I did as long as I did my job. We told jokes, laughed, and talked effortlessly with one another. I didn't have to try. We were all quirky, overworked, and underpaid, but we were happy to be a team. When I left that job, I left the job. The people, my co-workers, I still reconnect with and enjoy seeing. We fit in together even with our misshapen wacky pieces, and that is what made things so great.

This year, I've thought back to those times a lot. I haven't fit into my current workplace, a government office, for a long time. Former leadership told me that my work ethic would always save me while they were here and not to worry about others who gossiped or said anything otherwise. Those issues were known and would be addressed. This was the mentality of what I refer to as "the old guard." Our head supervisor stood up for me when a sexual harassment incident happened with a man right outside of our workplace on my lunch break. He came to my father's funeral to express his condolences to my family. It is through his insistence that I went from being a contractor to a government employee. I didn't entirely think it suited me, but he genuinely wanted me to do well and appreciated my hard work.

Another coworker made life better. When we met, he said, "You! I know what you are! You are coming to our D&D group this Saturday at my house! My wife and our friends will all be there. Bring your husband!" We've been friends ever since. He invited me to his Halloween party. Costumes were required. No one else from the office was invited. We were welcomed into his friend group swiftly and found ourselves invited over regularly. The rest of our co-workers made fun of our geekiness, but his presence made life in the office slightly better. Another co-worker also made life better. His viewpoint was, "normal is boring." He left because he was bored with his work, and our co-workers acted like "old church biddies" despite being too young for that. He didn't like that they criticized anything they didn't deem appropriate.

He was right. I wore a dress that came just above my knee once. My boss previously told me I looked cute. The thin woman who had been training me gawked at me and ran into our boss's office. I overheard, "Did you see her fat thighs? Nobody wants to see that. That isn't workplace appropriate." Shortly after, my boss, with a pained expression, pulled me into the office to discuss it with me. She used a different excuse not knowing I overheard the conversation. For the next two weeks the same woman wore dresses that kept getting shorter until it was finally addressed by our supervisor. I didn't understand why she was playing a game like that, but it was a direct hit to my confidence, and I didn't put much effort into my work appearance afterward.

That woman noted that too, but management did not address it. She also made accusations and spread rumors about my friendships with some of our co-workers. Most people knew my character, but it was hard to believe that I was being treated similar to how I was in high school in a government office. She had been there for 11 years and had knowledge and experience in many areas within the office that led her to a promotion. She is my present-day supervisor.

Mind games have continued despite my desire to give her a chance. The work ethic that saved me with prior management, has now buried me alive as many additional duties have been heaped upon me. I've been trying to make things work for six years. Most of the coworkers I fit in with are now gone. Others changed their behavior toward me when they were told they would get a promotion. I feel alone surrounded by people, and I know I don't belong here. I find it funny that I'm considered the "young gun" but am now part of "the old guard." I'm part of the mentality that preceded current management, and it is time I make the same decisions they made.

"Medicine" by Bring Me The Horizon resonates with my decision to leave.

I put in my resignation. The people who treated me poorly are angry or disappointed. The people I love working with are completely understanding and willing to give me a reference. They'll miss me they say, and ask if I have to leave. One is jealous because he has to wait a year to leave. My previous employer found out that I'm leaving federal service when he ran into my husband. He asked him for my phone number and got in contact with me immediately. My friends and relatives that love and care about me and truly want what is best for me, are excited and happy for me. I didn't fit in here, but I fit in with them. I'm sure wherever I go, I'll be happier.

The truth is, I've never wanted to "fit in." I want to be accepted for who I am, which is different. I don't want to change my mold. I want to be who I am with people who are also who they are. I am not everyone's taste and I have learned to be okay with that. The people that matter, my people, love me for who I am.

In closing, I encourage you to read "Do You Know Your Value?". If you look hard enough, you'll find your people. If you're lucky enough, they'll find you. Don't settle or worry about those that don't matter. Go be with your people! They are out there waiting! You are worth it.