D‑B‑A‑D‑G was the family mantra for me growing up. It meant “Don’t Be a Dumb Girl.” Simple. To the point. Self‑explanatory. Everyone in my family used it with me—even my mom. I leaned into the mantra physically, spiritually, and emotionally. I was reminded not to be a dumb girl constantly throughout my childhood. It was said in a cruel way, a funny way, a serious way, a sarcastic way, and a loving way, and each time I felt the words deeply.
DBADG became a noun or a verb—as in “Heidi, stop being a DBADG,” or “Heidi, don’t DBADG on the roller coaster,” or “Why are you throwing like a DBADG?” But mostly it was just stated simply: “Heidi, DBADG.” It didn’t make sense grammatically, but it made sense to me. I worked hard not to be the dumb girl I was assumed to be. I learned not to react with a scream when I saw a spider or large bug, or complain when I was cold, hungry, or needed to pee, or cry if I was hurt or scared—anything that might be seen as a sign of weakness.
That included sucking my thumb.
I’m five and three‑quarters now, and Dad had decided I was too old to suck my thumb. So there I was, lying in the dark with a bulky black ski glove on my right hand. I knew Dad was right—I needed to stop. At kindergarten, kids made fun of thumb‑suckers, and I had tried every strategy: sleeping on my side, wedging my hands between my knees, even praying for the willpower to stop. Yet every night, despite promising myself I’d quit before sleep, Dad found evidence I hadn’t succeeded.
Failure meant punishment. His solution? I wore the glove, but not just any glove. “I’ve figured out a solution to your problem,” he declared one evening. “You’ll wear the glove, but this time you won’t be able to get it off, because I’m going to tape it on.” I watched as he wrapped duct tape around my arm from wrist to elbow, the sticky, unyielding tape a constant reminder of my perceived inadequacy.
Every morning, peeling the tape off was agony, the sting a harsh lesson that I was not allowed to fail. In that painful process, I began building an inner grit I’d rely on in the years ahead.
