I’ve started a dozen posts, then stopped them, because I don’t want to share those thoughts.
I’ve posted a dozen photos, then deleted them again, self-consciousness eventually overwhelms every endeavor.
I used to write, until my writing became too much of a tool that could be used to judge, or potentially judge (perhaps only in my mind) my inferiority.
People who “know” me see a slim, fashionable, quick-to-laugh, professional with an exciting career and a dreamy husband.
But, that’s all just PR.
I am more flawed than I’d ever let even a best friend know, and my marriage is just as imperfect as the next.
I once opened up about all the cracks in my foundation to a friend I thought I could trust, only to see it thrown back in my face and joked about, through anonymous but thinly veiled references on Facebook.
But, it didn’t kill me, just wounded my pride a little and then made me stronger.
I have a secret super power I guess – my innermost layer of “I can do it better than anyone else!” remains impenatrable, even in the worst of times, and against any adversary.
I’m less bothered by my flaws than some, and less debilitated by the constant self-doubt that others feel. Arrogance is my secret strength, even when trembling to my core with fear and indecision, there’s a voice in my head that eggs me on.
My imperfections give me confidence. I see that even with my myriad faults the world still treats me as if I’m special. My kids still love me. My parents still call on my birthday (in spite of my awful teenage years), and I still get invited to social gatherings and neighborhood functions.
So maybe, I’m only as terrible as the next guy … and gossipy, judgemental frienemies, can go f*ck themselves.