Lately, I’ve been feeling pretty happy with life. It’s been going well. Most of my insecurities seemed under control. Work: good. Boys: my dating life is a trainwreck, but overall the ratio of interested guys vs available time is totally acceptable to me. Dancing: going well.
And then this week happened.
Exhibit A: Teacher posted this video of us dancing.
I freaked out. This (beautiful) man has smaller legs than me. I see him on the video – he looks like a normal fit guy: slim, maybe, but by no means twiggy. I look at myself in the mirror at home, and in my cute work outfits, and I think to myself “dayum girl, you fine!” I look at this video, and I am thicker than teacher. “The camera adds 10lbs”, you say. HE IS IN THE SAME CAMERA AS ME. He looks like that in real life. That means I look like that in real life. And presto! All my body insecurities are back.
Exhibit B: Work eval
I had my first work eval this week. It was a great eval. My hard work = appreciated. Yippee! Seeing as constructive criticism is a good thing, my bosses gave me feedback: I’m good. But I am not a natural leader. All this time I cofounded my newfound assertiveness with being a leader. Major fail in understanding. And given that I pride myself (pride, not vanity) on my understanding… realizing I was wide off the mark stings. A lot.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve somehow believed my own hype, and lost humility.
Exhibit C: Men and their need for vulnerability
Last night I went for drinks with Older Gentleman (first mentioned here). Somehow we got on to the topic of my dating life, and my habit of physically beautiful guys who are not long-term candidates, with a segway to my refusal to be vulnerable. He told me, bluntly, that if he is interested in a gal, he expects her to meet him halfway. I told him, bluntly, Buddy, I’ve been going for drinks/food with you semi regularly, because you interest and attract me and I enjoy you. I can’t handle more than that, I am scared. His feedback: take a risk or pay the price of a safe life.
I went home and tried not to cry. Cerebral me knows he wasn’t criticizing me, he was merely letting me know the consequence of my tendency of keeping ppl at arm’s length. Emotional me is devastated: I am not good enough. Again. It is never enough.
It wasn’t enough for my ex who realized he didn’t want to marry me when he went ring shopping.
It wasn’t enough for Beaut: I explored vulnerability, I showed all of myself to him, comforted by the parallels in our lives (anxiety, trust issues, anger issues, family issues). Here was someone who could understand me. He chose to understand someone else instead.
And now, apparently, despite all my hard work at tolerating vulnerability, being myself, Older Gentleman has signaled that the reason why I am stuck with all these bozos is that any man of substance will find me inadequate because I do not demonstrate a sufficient capacity for vulnerability. I am not enough for a guy to stick around and try get to know me, apparently.
I am not enough.
This morning, having slept on it, my hurt had shifted to anger. Fuck off. I am who I am. I am doing the best I can. And then…
I was talking on the phone with
Gentleman-Friend Hickster, who pointed that I have no conversation: I am a pussy. Yeah. He has a way with words, that one, clearly. Pressed for clarification, Hickster elaborated: he has noticed that every single time he broaches a personal topic, I immediately stop talking. I am a pussy because rather than handle potential discomfort/honesty/resulting intimacy, I shut down the convo.
2 guys, 24 hours, same feedback.
You do realize that neither of those guys said that you weren’t enough, right ? As I understand it, they said they wanted to know the real you. Very different. They’re saying you are enough – but they need to actually get to know you and have you let them in, emotionally.
That is a valid point.
But i am not sure it differs in practice from what I am feeling: who I am, the real me, is the me that shuts down convos. The me they are seeing is the me that is doing her best at being authentic.
And that, apparently, is not in line with what they want.
If that’s the case, they weren’t saying you aren’t enough, they were asking for something you just can’t offer, because it isn’t who you are. It’s as if they were asking you to be another person…. which again says nothing about you not being enough, they’re just asking for a redhead and that just isn’t you.
Then again, maybe they just aren’t the right people for you to open up to.. maybe they aren’t “enough” for you to be able to entrust them with your innermost thoughts and feelings…
A cheesy facebook poster said “Meeting the right person isn’t like being struck by a bolt of lightning, but like walking into your own home, even when you’ve never seen it before”. In short, with the right person at the right point in time, you’d be able to open up.
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A) I’d sell part of my soul to look like you. B) Women are built differently, and your legs look like they have way more muscle tone than his – hence they “appear” bigger, though I really couldn’t tell much of a difference. Your arms are toned nicely, as well.
Being rejected takes its toll on a person. It’s no wonder you shut down. One day someone will come along that cares enough to tear those walls down, and that’s the one you need to wait for.
Cutie. Thanks. I know that my body insecurities are ludicrous. I get it, kinda. Its like a weird double vision: I blink and know that I look good. I blink again and feel like a lumbering thug. And its terrible, because I know that in writing this, some girl will read it, look at me, and compare herself, and feel bad about herself. And that is where it gets crazy: these standards I apply to myself, I do not apply to others. I genuinely believe and see beauty in all shapes and forms (Ashley Graham with her campaign of lingerie and bathing suits for all sizes? HOLY SHIT THAT WOMAN IS SEXY.)
So not only am I unhappy, but my inability to rid myself of these self-imposed standards contributes to others insecurities.
But I guess that is life. Just because I know i have a problem doesn’t mean I can solve it just yet.
As for men… bah. I can’t even. I think why I was so upset is I recognized they were right, and I also recognized that I have no intention of changing. The hurt is too big.
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