Elena M. (ILE) about the desire to be smart and unique

Around the age of twelve, an interest in relationships with peers emerged. If there was a trip or an excursion, it was with friends. It is important for this child to grow up in the company of peers so that he can learn to interact with others. In a group, he can demonstrate his extraordinary qualities. He needs everyone to look at him and say, “You’re exceptional! You’re the smartest! Only you can do this!”

An ILE has an inner drive to acquire knowledge and show it off, to stand out among others. If no one can solve a problem, but you can—there it is, a boost in self-esteem! You stand out among others, swelling with pride and joy from being so extraordinary. Your self-esteem rises instantly, and you feel full of energy. Life feels wonderful!

If you haven’t prepared for a lesson and are called on to answer, and in that situation you appear completely incompetent and ignorant, the reaction is very painful. You would rather sink through the floor or skip school than look like such a fool. It’s a severe blow to self-esteem. You must be extraordinary.

At the same time, I feel my superiority over others. You are better than everyone else, and you need acknowledgment of that. Acknowledgment that I am extraordinary is enough for me to love people as they are. Even if a person cannot do something or doesn’t know something, if they recognize my uniqueness, then I love them.

<...> When I was very little and hadn’t started school yet, one day I got very upset with my father. This memory has stayed very vividly in my mind. My parents started talking about water skiing, and I said, “How I love water skiing!” Of course, I meant that I really liked the idea and would love to try it. I remember my father laughing at me, and then everyone else followed.

It was so hurtful! I was ridiculed for my “mistake”—I had expressed my thought incorrectly. How could I love water skiing if I had never even tried it? It’s this laughter over some kind of silliness (my misphrasing), just like other similar mistakes, that I remember in detail throughout my life—where, who, and when someone said something to me.

Another incident, which is even funny to me now… My parents were laughing at my older brother, who had written a composer’s name incorrectly in an essay. Instead of Schubert, he wrote “Shulbert.” I laughed along with everyone, and trying to show off my knowledge, I teasingly asked, “Maybe you don’t know ‘Shopperna’ either?” That’s when everyone started laughing at me. Any foolishness displayed in front of others sticks in your memory for life, causing intense self-reproach.