Because this is the year I...
I grew up in a nervous family. Any sniffly nose or sore limb was treated like I had the plague. Hypochondria became a habit.
This year, I learned to stop freaking out when I sneeze. I learned to accept my low pain tolerance, rather than beat myself up over "feeling weak" all the time. I learned to stop feeling guilty if I want to lay in bed and eat snacks all day. I learned that relaxing isn't a symptom of failure. Even bears hibernate.
But one of the biggest kinds of hypochondria I had to get over was when I felt sad or tired. While recovering from depression, I was really worried that I'd ignore its symptoms again. I learned that it's not good if you feel sad every day, but not every sad day is depression. It's not good to feel tired every day, but you might just be tired because you've been on your feet for 6 hours, paying attention to 30-something people at once. I've stopped downright ignoring my body when I feel sad or tired, but I've also stopped obsessing about it. Some days are happy, some days are not. And that's fine. Because obsessing about whether "this day is the best it could be right now" is a recipe for disaster.
This year, and for many years before it, I don't think I would have said I had low self esteem. I didn't have the typical symptoms. I don't really wear makeup or do my hair, so I don't obsess about it. I don't fuss about my weight or clothes either.
But I did have low self esteem. It just looked different in me.
I was particularly susceptible to "Keeping Up with the Jones" syndrome. I've lived it all my life. Any life decision I made--even though I was never explicitly taught this--had to impress others. I'd always relied on people liking me. I was rarely self conscious about my physical appearance, but almost always self conscious about my abilities. I spent too much energy caring about what people thought, too much time hesitating.
I was particularly susceptible to "Keeping Up with the Jones" syndrome. I've lived it all my life. Any life decision I made--even though I was never explicitly taught this--had to impress others. I'd always relied on people liking me. I was rarely self conscious about my physical appearance, but almost always self conscious about my abilities. I spent too much energy caring about what people thought, too much time hesitating.
Remember Robert Frost's poem The Road Not Taken? Imagine if the poem ended, instead, with, "I took the one less traveled by, and everyone gasped the whole time."
Ridiculous.
How self absorbed to think that everyone is watching (and judging) your every move? And how terrible to think that scrutiny is going to do anything even if it exists?
When I became a teacher, I was forced to bare myself in front of 200-something people every day--whether I felt up to it or not. There weren't "big presentations" you prepared for weeks. You had a big presentation five times every single day. And the possibility of something going wrong (i.e. being less than absolutely impeccable) made me so anxious so often, that I felt like the victim of a sappy movie.
If I had gotten a desk job out of college, or anything that didn't require me to see the same people almost every day for a year--no do-overs--I don't think I ever would have confronted this about myself. Or, hell, done something about it. I would have gone along my life taking things a bit too personally and being a little offended all the time.
This year, I learned that confidence doesn't mean walking into a room believing everyone will love you. It seems that way, it's what I was taught, but it's not true. Confidence is walking into a room and knowing that, even if everyone doesn't love you, you'll be fine.
I've spent a great deal of my life trying to be agreeable, for the reasons I explained above.
I've sat through an excruciating hour of a creepy old man calling me "a delectable specimen" five times. A full hour with a man who, after learning I was a math teacher, asked me to "give him a call" once I really figure out what I want to do with my life. I didn't tell him off when he responded to "from India" with "dot India?" I sat completely still while he hugged me from behind. I didn't want to cause a scene. I cared about being agreeable more than being respected.
This year, because I cared less and less about being agreeable, I also became more vocal. I participated in conversations about heavy, sticky topics--education reform, poverty etc.--with confidence. I'm (now) okay with commenting on people's unintentionally-racist analysis of what's going on in Ferguson, instead of staying silent (i.e. neutral, i.e. liked by everyone.) I'm okay with believing that I'm right. With taking bets. With taking risks.
I've chosen authenticity.
Authenticity is being okay with telling people you don't want to drink tonight. It's being okay with telling people you don't cook, that your fridge is empty and your freezer is filled with frozen Trader Joe's food. It's actually TELLING people these things. It's sharing your feelings, your hardships, your successes.
And don't get me wrong, I'm not an "I don't care what any of you think" type of person. I don't think I ever will be. But the difference now is that I don't think about it 5 minutes later. Positive or negative.
As long as I'm living my life with honesty and kindness, I'll be fine.
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