Nothing feels more ego-deflating than the moment you discover that you weren’t as mature and together as you thought. I always considered myself to be a self-aware kind of person. I joined yoga and meditation classes in my early twenties when I should have been passing out in a drunken stupor on the couches of random friends. I suffered through terrible bosses, demanding jobs, disappointing boyfriends, and financial ups and downs more than I care to admit. I thought I’d grown up. I thought that I’d learned a lot.
But then I was at a party last week in Toronto where my husband and I were taking a little trip. I was looking forward to this party. I wore my new killer red dress and platform heels, lattice gold earrings, and even smoothed my frizzed-out hair so it looked pretty decent, quite an accomplishment for someone who likes to pull it back into an elastic band most days. I felt hot. At least, much hotter than I’d felt in the past few months as I noticed more gray hairs and lines on my face. But that’s another topic.
I walked in feeling good, confident. However, when I looked around, the place was filled with gorgeous, blonde, tall models in short, tight dresses. For a minute, I wondered if I suddenly was transported to New York’s fashion week, or maybe back to L.A. for an Angelina Jolie movie premiere. Nope. I was in Toronto. And I was at a party surrounded by models. Suddenly I felt old and ugly.
It reminded me of the days in middle school when I was awkward and ashamed of my own body. I wore big t-shirts, put about a pound of make-up over my acne-prone red skin, and tried not to smile so my braces wouldn’t show. (I was always afraid they were covered in food.) I felt ugly, and was sure everyone around me was looking at me and judging my ugliness.
Fast-forward to (ahem) a few years later at the premiere party in Toronto. There I was, the lone, short (by comparison), brown-haired older woman among blonde twenty-six year-old models. Like, professional ones who you might see in ads for Chloe or Ralph Lauren. Their hair and make-up were perfect. Their dresses were designer (compared to my $40 sale purchase). They carried themselves with confidence, which made my own shrink.
Now, I know this is ridiculous – feeling insecure in a room full of beautiful people. Who cares? I didn’t know them, they didn’t know me. But it was enough to make me question my own appearance, which was more tied to my sense of self then I’d thought. I’d forgotten how far I’d come in my own life, because I was transported back to that feeling of my middle school years. That was the part that was unsettling. I’d forgotten who I was now. That I was no longer that scared, insecure girl. Or was I?
I don’t know. All I know is that it surprised and humbled me, to think that I could feel so insecure over something that was so inconsequential. That my fears are still to some degree tied up in my thirteen-year-old self. But I’m no longer thirteen, and I know better. I know who I am, and that my own worth isn’t tied up in any one thing – whether it’s beauty, or intelligence, or success, or whatever people can judge you for. But sometimes I forget. Sometimes my beliefs are called into question, and sometimes I revert back to that girl. But maybe that’s ok, too.
Because after all, it’s just one party.
About Kelly Seal
Kelly is a freelance writer based in Los Angeles, CA. She blogs about dating, relationships, personal growth and what "healthy living" means to her. You can follow her on Google+, Twitter @kellyseal or through her website www.kellyseal.com.
Hi Kelly.
You are entitled to feel insecure. To acknowledge it is to half let it go.
We, an outer eye, may see you with too few, to no, flaws. But, the beholder’s eye sees otherwise. We’re all guilty of negative self-talk, sadly.
However, and that’s a big however …
Why feel “less than” when nobody made you feel “less than”? Objectively, none of the models gathered around to laugh at your imperfections, in a Mean Girls clique-y spirit. Those girls, however impeccable, suffer from insecurities, too. Physical glitches only grow bigger as we zoom in on them. Just like trapped spirits, if “released”, they fade.
If it’s any consolation, if I’m granted the privilege of parenthood, I’d like my daughter to look like you. You’re beautiful AND cute; rarely does someone encompass both. 🙂
Chin up or I’ll write a longer moralizing comment.
You can definitely see your enthusiasm within the work you write.
The sector hopes for more passionate writers like you who aren’t afraid to say how they believe. All the time follow your heart.
Awww, thanks both of you! I like to stay true to what I’m feeling in the moment. I think we all revert back to our younger selves every now and then…