In my humble opinion, the best way to prep for the New Year involves a couple magazines, some scissors, an Elmer’s glue stick, and some hands ready to assemble a masterpiece. Assembling a game plan for the year can be daunting, but when you turn […]
Today I decided to do something I hadn’t done in a long time…take a picture of myself.
That’s right. I whipped out my phone, balanced it on a chair, set up a timer, got into place, and began posing.
I snapped a few pics, scrolled through, got frustrated with how HORRIBLE I looked, and tried again.
I tried again and again and again, for what felt like years. I hated them all. I hated my hair, my legs, my outfit, my everything. There wasn’t a single thing I found right with ANY of the angles I tried.
My mind began racing. Racing with negative thoughts:
There’s no way I can post this to Instagram…
WHY can’t I look decent for once in my life…
If I post that one, all people will notice is how STUPID I look, or how much cleavage I’m showing…
OR what if they figure out I literally took time out of MY DAY to take a picture of myself like the narcissist I truly am…
And then it hit me…actually…Elizabeth Gilbert hit me.
She hit me fucking HARD.
She hit me with a beautiful conversation she had with a powerful woman in her mid-seventies, and it went like this:
“We all spend our twenties and thirties trying so hard to be perfect, because we’re so worried about what people will think of us. Then we get into our forties and fifties, and we finally start to be free, because we decide that we don’t give a damn what anyone thinks of us. But you won’t be completely free until you reach your sixties and seventies, when you finally realize this liberating truth — nobody was ever thinking about you, anyhow.”
“They aren’t. They weren’t. They never were.”
And that is a beautiful thing.
…I didn’t always care what people thought of me.
Ask anyone who knew me my freshman and sophomore year in college; I was as free as a bird, I loved myself wholeheartedly, with every fiber of my being.
But somewhere along the way I lost sight of my beauty. I began caring too much about what people thought, or what people expected me to become. I felt embarrassed of my confidence, as if it were something to be ashamed about.
And the funny thing is I was spending my precious time caring about people’s opinions of me….when THEY WEREN’T EVEN THINKING OF ME IN THE FIRST PLACE.
So, I’m making a pact to love myself again. And I hope you choose to do the same.
A pact to love all photos of me and the way my hair falls in my face, and to love all aspects of me wholeheartedly and without shame, “because nobody was ever thinking about [me], anyhow.”