Selfies aren’t hard for me. I take them and post them often enough that some of you will think that this is just a normal day for me.
But what I don’t do is show my unedited side. I don’t show the frowns or the tears or the less polished aspects of myself for a camera. I brag that I’m authentic and real, but there is convincing evidence that I’m not always showing my full self. Part of that is my tendency to play the people-pleaser, to feel like I need to be “on” all the time. How many selfies have I not posted because of some critical eye I have toward how I look or how I feel about those looks?
I can’t look objectively at my self. The loathing I have for my imperfections is deeper than I admit sometimes. I string along facsimiles of confidence hoping that it will cover for the deeper insecurities I have about my size, my uneven eyes, my flat hair, my giant nose, my freckles, my scars. But those insecurities cover up the darker corners of self-worth where the wounds of adolescence and childhood reside. The ones that were taught to be pleasing to everyone, to give them what they want even if it isn’t what I feel.
Shit, I’m delving into rape culture territory here–a burden most women shoulder without even thinking. Performing for the approval of others has been a big way I can fake self-worth and hide from the harsh criticisms of others.
But if I really want to be radical and sincere in my personal changes, I need to show myself in the moment. How I actually feel. How I actually present in the world. Unadorned, unedited, undeterred.
So for today’s challenge I give you an imperfect selfie. Fucking hard for me to post. The imperfection of my face, my body, my lack of great curves, my disproportionate structure–gah! It just gets to me. But I promised–so here you go. Unedited, no filters and only a tiny bit of cropping.
Now that I look at it, it looks like all the rest of my photos–maybe it appeals to you and maybe it doesn’t. But this is 10:30pm me: waiting for Warrior in the bedroom.
This is also the me that is recovering from an acute PTSD episode that has had me on edge and loopy the past two days.
This is the me that has burned out and is in need of replenishment.
This is the me that is disappointed and hurt that my love isn’t reciprocated by the people I actually want to pursue.
This is the me that is fed up with giving the emotional labor to people who can’t be bothered to learn me and truly be there for me.
This is the me ashamed I don’t make more time for dating; and the me that is determined to not need anyone in my life.
This is the me of this moment. And maybe, right now, I just need my own acceptance and love.