I have a confession to make. Well, I have many confessions, but will just focus on one today. It’s a feeling that’s been creeping up on me for a while now, and just recently has come front and center into my life. Big breath…. I hate myself. There, I said it. I disgust myself, and more than half the time I wish I was someone else. Not just in appearance, but in who I am as well. I finally just confessed this to my husband a few days ago, even though the feeling has been there for some time.
In the last few years, I stopped being in pictures. I think self-consciously I was avoiding the part where I’d have to look at them again. To actually see the person everyone else sees and not the person in my mind. Because they are two very distinctly looking women. But that made me sad. I wanted to be in memories. I didn’t want to be the person who was there, but never really ‘there’. I wanted my son to see pictures of us together, to be a part of his growing up, his memories. So I started being in pictures again. Although, now, as I look at some of the pictures these last few months/year, I want to puke. I’m beginning to the see the real me and I don’t like it. I repulse myself! When I see a picture of my face I instantly, instinctively turn away. “That can’t possibly be me!” I think to myself.
And with that premier hate, I can do nothing but pick at all the other little perfections I see within myself. The fact that I’m not open with people, and that I don’t make friends easily weighs on my heart. That I feel all this compassion for those around me, but don’t have the courage to step forward and help them at times I know they need it most. That I shrink away into a corner and wish to be invisible. Except I’ve been trying to be invisible for so long, it’s worked for all aspects and I wish to be the person who can shine when they walk into a room and demand attention, demand to be the priority. Why can’t I be the priority? I know why. I’ve shrunken away for so long it’s a second nature, even when it’s not what I want to do.
How I long to be the one people change their schedules for! Not the one changing my schedule for someone else. I wish people would lust after me. That I could be the one people’s memories linger after. However, in reality, my name is usually the last thing people remember and the first name people forget. I’m just here. I don’t feel like I’ve done anything special in my adult life. I just am.
The funny thing? I don’t even like attention! I get all embarrassed when I”m noticed, praised, or flattered. I know I can’t have it both ways. So what do I want? I want to be the outspoken, outwardly affectionate person I feel inside (but is locked away inside me). I want to embrace who I am, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I want to be able to tell people around me that I love them, and that they mean the world to me (and I try, but the words get locked in my throat). I want to be able to offer help to those who need it, without being asked. I want to be able to be myself around the people I spend the most time with, even if they don’t like it – and be okay if they don’t. I don’t want to have to change me for someone else. And I want to be okay with that. I don’t want to have to live hoping that people will like me. I just want to live. I don’t want to be broken.
I want to smile proudly in pictures, confident in who I am and what I look like. I want to believe I”m beautiful when I’m told so. I want to be able to shop in regular stores. I want to like shopping. I want to be able to buy clothes on sale because they’re my size and not have to pay $60 for a new shirt because stores can charge whatever they want to the plus-size market as we don’t really have many places/options to shop. I want to look good in a flow-y top, not like I’m wearing a tent. I want to wear boots that go higher than the ankle. I want to be able to cross my legs! I don’t want my pants to roll down below my stomach when I sit down.
And I am working on the physical part. I’m trying to improve myself on the other parts as well, although I feel like for every step I take, I get pushed back two. I’m trying to be who I used to be, not the scared little girl I”m growing up into. I’m trying to take risks again, but because of past repercussions, I am terrified. I think I’m starting to see a glimmer of hope, and all of me is wishing a cloud doesn’t cover it too soon.
All of me 