Posts under ‘Touchy Feely’

[Continued from Part 1]

So what changed? How did I revive a self-esteem that had been battered and bruised and whittled down to near-nonexistence?

In the simplest terms, I tried. For years.

Unhappiness wears on you. And I was tired enough of being down on myself that I gave myself no choice but to change, to improve. I gradually learned how to be liked again and, eventually, how to be loved.

The Mirror Test

I used to hate shopping. People who like (or simply can tolerate) the way they look like shopping. For me before, Awkward Sachi, shopping was a chore. It forced me to look in the mirror. I loathed the process of grabbing clothing from the rack only to try it on and detest the way it looked on me. It wasn’t fun. Those dressing room debacles were a perpetual reminder of how uncomfortable I was in my own skin, of the things I wanted to change in myself but wouldn’t.

Looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t just work toward changing some of those things because I probably would have been happier. But I guess it was an off-shoot of my depression, an act of rebellion. Femininity be damned. I will not conform. I will wear jeans and oversized hooded sweatshirts to hide any hint of the fact that there is a woman’s body under here.

As adamant as I once was about not changing myself, the funny thing is I did change. As we all do, and as we all should. I matured. I grew into myself. Whether using a real mirror or a metaphorical one or both, it’s important to look at yourself and evaluate, as fairly as you can, what kind of person you are and what kind of person you want to be. And try your darnedest to become that person. Though I wasn’t really aware of it at the time, that’s precisely what I did to get closer to happiness. (And to be fair, what I’m still doing.)

Dropping the Demons

Leaving high school was a welcome change in my life. I had become so fixated on hating how people judged me that I failed to realize that I had started to do exactly the same thing to everyone else. College helped. It slowly pulled me out of my self-loathing rut. Eventually I got rid of that chip on my shoulder. I traveled. I made new friends. I realized I was likable. I opened myself up bit by bit. I had fun.

Though I still wasn’t fully comfortable in my skin, I worked on becoming what I considered to be a good person. I strove to be a better friend, daughter, sister, student, confidant. I built and nurtured strong relationships because they made me feel good, feel loved. They fed my soul.

Finally I understood. It’s not that the girls in high school that I felt so below were necessarily better looking than me. They had something that I didn’t. And it wasn’t beauty –  it was confidence.

I reached the point of really liking myself again. But I wasn’t done yet.

The Missing Piece

I look at pictures now and think that I actually got prettier. But like I said before, the difference between then and now is that I’m letting myself be pretty. While I felt like I was a decent human being for some time, it was only about two years ago that I realized I have attractive qualities that I can accentuate, that I want people to notice in me. So I started getting fit, expanded my wardrobe beyond denim and hoodies, learned the basics of make-up. I tried. And the gentlemen took notice.

Now, here’s something I have to mention before I wrap up because some people talk about learning to love yourself like that’s all it takes to become happy. It’s not. They can tell you to “be happy with yourself, find that light deep within, love who you are” ‘til they’re blue in the face – but until you get the validation from someone else, someone you deem worthy to judge, it doesn’t sink in quite as profoundly. Learning to be loved is just as essential as loving yourself. I’ve been lucky enough to have a supportive circle of family and girlfriends that has sustained me during my lowest of times. They’ve collectively told me how beautiful I am thousands of times. Yet one thing that was still missing for me throughout both my Awkward Years and my Recovery Years was desirability. I had never felt desired. And unfortunately, that’s not something that self-love can fix.

It is, however, something self-love can help bring about. When you’re comfortable with yourself, when you like you, other people are more likely to like you too. I was just on the verge of becoming comfortable with myself by myself when I met my husband, and he was instrumental in spurning me along. In fact, it’s quite likely he found me appealing when we met because at the time, I kinda thought I was appealing. It wasn’t until I first talked to guys who were interested in me that I realized just how low my self-esteem was, how accustomed I had become to being overlooked. My sheer disbelief that anyone could be interested in me – and stay interested – opened my eyes to how low my self-worth had become. I found myself wondering “why does he want me?” where others would ask themselves, “why wouldn’t he want me?” That’s where my real healing began.

Sex & the City put it better than I ever could:

Most people possess pretty; it’s just a matter of whether they see it in themselves or not. It’s good to feel pretty first, from the inside out — difficult, but good — then have it validated by someone else.

That’s my two cents.

I mentioned before that I’m currently going through a girlie phase. I began thinking of it as more of a pretty phase before I realized it may not be a phase at all, but rather a progression. I’m finally letting myself be pretty. People have noticed this change, and it’s made me notice it too. It’s also made me look into why I wasn’t letting this part of myself out before.

In the beginning

I was never particularly girlie growing up. As a child, I wasn’t much into jewelry and dresses. I wouldn’t mind wearing a dress on special occasions when my mom supplied it for me, but I’d always be glad to change out of it at the end of the night. I also didn’t have an eye for fashion. I threw clothes on injudiciously because it took too much energy for me to try to coordinate. I like pretty as much as the next girl, but I was never adept at creating it myself.

Another likely factor was my sibling role. My sister and I were close growing up despite (or maybe because of) the fact that we were very different . As we got older, we fell into our contrasting roles with ease and delight. She was the cute, fun, outgoing, outspoken one. I was the quieter, introspective, oft-amusing, “smart” one.* She was fashionable; I wasn’t. Pretty wasn’t part of my repertoire. I instead enjoyed being the sidekick who chimed in with some zingers here and there, never the center of attention.

In school, I was well-enough-liked and thrived on attention from boys. I was a cute kid. Then puberty hit me. Like a punch in the face.

My “Don’t Look at Me” Phase

High school commenced my awkward years, an agonizingly long stretch of time that lasted even through a large chunk of college.  I didn’t mesh well in my all-girls Catholic high school with its quarterly dances, gossip-filled hallways, and clear hierarchy of popularity. Where my academic and social life were once the same, with the lack of testosterone in school, they were no longer. Attractiveness was paramount to your social status, measured by your circle of friends and how much attention you received from boys. I wore glasses, had bad skin, did virtually no physical activity, was obsessed with Harry Potter, and used acerbic sarcasm as humor. I got no attention, nor did I seek it, thus I rested fairly low on the totem pole. Not that I minded (or so I told myself).

I didn’t know where I fit at my school or if I fit at all. It was during this time that I decided I didn’t want to look pretty. Which, really, is plain stupid because of course I wanted to look pretty. I had just developed a complex about prettiness.

The Ugly Girl Complex

I wasn’t ugly back then, but I thought I was. I assumed that looking pretty was something that came naturally to people, but it took considerable effort for me. I came to see unattractiveness as part of me and I didn’t want to make myself something that I (thought I) wasn’t. The times I would put effort into my appearance, however minimal, it was clear – to me – that I had tried to look pretty and I despised the notion that other people would be able to see that I was trying to look good for them. I was conflicted between wanting to be noticed and not wanting to change myself in order to get attention. Over time, I grew to fear attention, worried that it would only make people notice my flaws. Messed up, right?

It took me years to recover from the blow to my ego that was high school. But thankfully I did.

…Continued in Part 2

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*To this day I don’t know why I was deemed the smart one. My sister and I did equally well in school and most of the reason I excelled at a young age was because I was picking things up from her. Maybe it was because I openly enjoyed academics?