But, even though these insecurities will never disappear, here is my attempt to convince myself that it is, in fact, going to be okay.
My birthmark has been with me, obviously, since birth. It’s rather large and obnoxious, rivaling the size of Texas or a small horse (in my opinion at least). I honestly didn’t even think twice about it’s existence until about the end of elementary school or beginning of middle school. That was when other kids my age started pointing it out, and they assumed it was a burn, or poison ivy, or some mega-contagious rash. And it was always a bother to have to explain that it was just my skin: normal, non-contagious, non-fungal, and non-painful. Just skin, that happens to be red in some areas on my wrist, hand, and fingers.
In all honestly, I don’t know why this birthmark is such an insecurity for me. I have yet to meet a single person who was disgusted by it, or changed their interactions with me based on it. Everyone understands. Everyone else likes my birthmark. Except me, and I don’t know why.
Then there is this beauty. My infamous scar from my broken-arm surgery, and it happens to be on the same arm as my birthmark. In short, my whole left arm is just kind of pathetic looking. I would love to go one day without a complete stranger pointing out my “one heck of a scar!” Or looking shockingly at my arm only to exclaim in the loudest voice possible, “That musta hurt!” I always feel like responding in some sarcastic way–“No, duh sir. It hurt a whole heck of a lot.” But, I refrain. Mainly because I know 99% of the people that point it out don’t intend to be mean, they are just curious and empathetic.
This scar is so new. It’s only a year or two old, but the sense of insecurity it gives me feels like it has lasted a lifetime. In my mind, it is extremely large, annoyingly bumpy, and stubborn. It just won’t disappear or fade.
Big insecurity number three: my glasses. I can sum up my feelings about having to wear glasses in one word: abhor.
This is more of a mental insecurity, than it is a physical one. For the most part, I actually like the way my glasses look on my face. Nah, this insecurity is more than just the way I look; it is the way I feel.
It all started when I was around six years old. That was when I was told I needed glasses. My first pair were extremely large and round (just imagine a typical 90s pair of glasses). And, not only did I need glasses, but I needed to wear an eye patch too. The doctors thought that if I covered up my good eye with an eye patch, it would force my bad eye to work harder, and in turn, make it stronger to improve the sight. So, for months on end, I was the girl at day care walking around with this eye patch. I remember it clearly. My mom even let me color on it with markers to make myself feel better about wearing it. I hated standing out like that. And the smell of those sticky eye patches wasn’t too enjoyable either.
Then we get to the magnification dilemma. The prescription in one eye is so much stronger than the other eye, that without special lenses, my eyes look like completely too different sizes when I put my glasses on. Seriously, I could walk into a fun house and the funky mirrors would probably make it look more normal. I didn’t notice it for awhile, but once I did, everyone else did too. Around middle school too, that was fun.
So we have eye patches, and then we had different sized eyes.
Next we have my complete dependence on them. I remember in middle school, I was supposed to give this speech at an induction for our honor society. At the time, I didn’t have contacts. But, I didn’t want to wear my glasses because we were supposed to “dress up.” And I simply didn’t feel pretty with glasses on, so I didn’t wear them. Not a good idea–the moment I stepped up to the podium to read my section of the speech, the entire page went blurry and my eyes went out of focus from the bright stage lights. I stood there, wide-mouthed, speechless, and embarrassed, as the entire assembly just stared at me. I ran off stage and had to put my speech on hold for a few minutes while I looked for my glasses. So, not only did I have an embarrassing moment, I had to return to stage feeling much less “pretty” with my glasses on.
My most recent issue with these glasses is my sense of identity. Okay, okay, I hope I’m not losing you here, but just stay with me. When I think about myself and what I look like, I do not picture myself with glasses on. I feel better without them off. I feel more like myself without glasses on my face. Yet, as I got older, people started identifying me as the girl with glasses. Innocent pictures drawn of me included glasses. People always throw comments at me like “Oh, I’m so used to you with glasses on” or “You look different! Oh, it’s because you aren’t wearing glasses.” Oy vey; I absolutely despise comments like that simply because I don’t identify myself as a person with glasses. So, when other people do, I easily get self-conscious.
So, if you see what I mean, I am not as much physically insecure with my glasses. I am insecure with my dependence on them, and their constant ability to make me stand out.
My last, and less literally pictured, insecurity are my two-left feet. Obviously, I don’t mean literally. But, my clumsiness, while most of the time is funny, is really embarrassing.
I don’t know why, but I just can’t seem to get it under control. I am little sick of being the girl that is always falling, tripping, spilling, breaking, or bumping things. A majority, if not all, of the embarrassing moments in my life are due to the fact that I cannot control my own body.
Yes, these are my four biggest insecurities.
Yes, these will always be present in my life.
No amount of “It will be okay” or “You are still beautiful” sort of comments will change it.
But, I post this as a medicine to myself. To tell myself that it’s okay to have insecurities. I’m allowed to feel self-conscious sometimes.
The difference lies in the response to these insecurities. I could either wallow in self pity, which I had the habit of doing. Or, just embrace them
My biggest remedy just comes with talking to God, and saying “Hey God, this is how I feel. But, I know you made me this way, so, all in all, I’m okay with it.”
Feelings can only go so far. Decisions–to embrace, love, and accept your insecurities–go farther.
So, here it is folks: Hi, my name is Taylor and I am insecure. And I’m okay with that.
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