Insecure Perspective

Insecure Perspective

Lately I’ve had some nice cystic acne join my face – I am prone to it but thankfully I can usually manage it fairly well these days through skincare and medication. Sometimes, it makes a reappearance and as silly as it sounds, it shakes my already fragile confidence.

I found myself unexpectedly walking home in the rain a week or two ago and while the rain hit my face I only had one thought on my mind and it wasn’t “Wow, how beautiful is this rain”, which is remarkable since I actually love the rain. No, the only thought in my head was: “I need to get to dinner in 15 minutes and I won’t have time to touch up my makeup.” Immediately after that thought, I had a little panic over the whole situation.

Now, when I remember that time, I think: “What the hell?”

Was I really worried that my friends awaiting me at dinner would just up and leave when they saw that I had a pimple on my face?

I am insecure, everyone is. You can see my insecurity everywhere – I wear a cardigan every single day almost without fail; I will never wear my hair scraped back in a ponytail, even if I’m exercising, and when you look at this blog, you won’t find pictures of me in the same way other bloggers photograph themselves … I prefer to get an illustration of myself or hide myself behind a book. So it’s no wonder that a little bit of rain dissolving my makeup would have me ordering a small panic and a side of low self-esteem.

It’s at these times when I really need to remember:

“Those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.” 

But of course, it’s all very nice for me to remember this when I have the benefit of hindsight. The simple fact of the matter is that when I’m in those moments and insecurity takes over, anxiety will always get in the way of logical thought.

I would never think any less of my friends if they rocked up to lunch with a pimple in the middle of their face or even if they had literally grown an extra head. I might have a question or two on that second scenario, but I wouldn’t love them any less.

How little do I think of my friends if I think they would like me any less just because I look a bit gross today? The answer is, of course, that I do not really think this at all. I’ve got the evidence to back their friendship up. If they didn’t ditch me when my foundation was three shades too dark and they didn’t block me on every social platform on that day when I completely forgot to shave one of my legs and they didn’t even freeze me out when I cut my own fringe and looked deranged until it grew out, they’re not leaving me now.

I am a big believer that being a friend is about being there in all kinds of weather. Emotional weather or physical weather. Of course, I have failed at friendship over the years – I’m only 24 for goodness’ sake, the mistakes have been plenty in those few years – but many of the friends I have now have been friends for 20 of those years. To make it this far, you must have similar ideas of what being a friend means – otherwise they simply won’t be around anymore.

So surely, if I’m walking in the rain and it’s melting the makeup off my face – they’re not going to love me any less for being a streaky, pimply mess.

If it’s the middle of summer and I really want to swim – they’re not going to love me any less for looking like a bit of a blob in a cossie or leave me stranded doing a doggy paddle in my baggy shirt and board shorts while they swan off looking stunning in bikinis.

If we’re in the depths of winter and I want to wear a freaking beanie on my massive head – they will not love me any less for looking like a lumpy bowling ball.

These are the things that I know in my sane head and heart but I just need to ingrain these a little more in there so that the head knowledge really comes through in those moments where my logical brain is nowhere to be found.

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