I would be lying if I said my inner critic had nothing to do with my recent Christmas-hating funk. Or if I said it was all about Christmas or all about the damper that my dumb sister has put on it with her dumb upsetting life decisions, and not at all about my “love life.”*
And since I read Sugar tonight, I feel like I might as well own up to the not-crippling-but-still-yucky insecurity that plagues me, mostly in regard to my relations with the male gender. (BTdubbs, I’m going to describe everything tonight in the most insane phrasing possible, because I’m hyper and loopy and haven’t eaten in 12 hours.)
I like to think I’m confident. Maybe I’m just not.
In dating, when things are not going well, when I don’t seem to have a lot of prospects, or god forbid if someone rejects me, I think things like they hate my teeth/fat/voice, they think I’m too loud/boring/opinionated/awkward etcwhatever and I struggle not to hate and think those things about myself.
But in NewAndExciting neurosis, when things seem to be going good with somebody, I second guess everything. I catch myself looking forward to hearing from them and curse that impulse. I wait for them to realize they hate my teeth/fat/voice, they think I’m too loud/boring/opinionated/awkward etcwhatever and for things to end. I try and figure out how not to be disappointed if that happens.
I don’t know when I’ll relax. I don’t know when I’ll be secure.
There’s another voice, of course, that argues the case for how awesome I am. If something goes wrong, I know damn well how to handle that. It’s just hard to enjoy the things I should be enjoying when the asshole lady in my head pops up randomly to remind me not to get too comfortable.
Hard as it may be to believe, I don’t like admitting when I’m a ball of insecurity. I don’t like to be anything other than my best unapologetic self. That’s why I loved this Dear Sugar column. It’s nice to be reminded that I’m not the only one, by any means.