“When a woman finally learns that pleasing the world is impossible, she becomes free to learn how to please herself.” – Glennon Doyle
If I look back one all the iterations of myself, I can say that I’ve been a ton of versions of “Jen”. There was the tomboy, the goth, the pretty girl, the angry and rebellious teenager, the party girl, the smart one, the pleaser. The list is actually probably too long and it’s quite likely that versions have been forgotten. Every effort to conform was done in tiny, little ways, hardly even noticeable. I wanted to be liked, to be accepted – to fit in.
Unfortunately, I never felt comfortable. I never really loved any version of myself. And, I was really hard on myself because nothing fit. I was never pretty enough, never smart enough, not a good enough mom, friend, partner, human. I pretended to be someone else and did it quite well, at least for a while. Then, I’d start to pick myself apart. The wheels would fall off and I’d be anxious, panicked, and humiliated about who I couldn’t be.
As I sit here today, at 35, I can see in the rearview mirror that I put a lot of unnecessary pressure on myself. I spent so much time trying to be “other” that I didn’t have time to figure out what it was I wanted, liked, cared about. And any pieces of myself I found and loved were suppressed and I morphed into a different version. I spent years trying to please my friends, family, teachers, co-workers, bosses. I spent literally ALL my time forcing down any thought of what I might want in favor of what everyone else wanted me to be. It was exhausting. I was exhausted.
I’m working on this now. I’m in the midst of figuring myself out. What, really, is it that I like? I have always loved writing. Why did I care so much about whether someone would read or like what I wrote? That pressure, the pressure that only I put on myself, kept me from going on. During all of my adult life, I longed to be part of a book club, to talk to people about what they read – why they loved it, hated it, and why it might have resonated with them. But, I was afraid that everyone would hate my book choices and think I was stupid when I brought up a theme. These are two of the millions of examples.
As I grew to understand that I had no firm footing on who I was, I began to turn inward and open myself up to finding my true nature. Two years ago, without the prospect of joining a book club, I created my own. I felt vulnerable and scared, but did it anyway. I still feel vulnerable and scared but putting myself out there has made it easier. I also started gardening, jumping on a trampoline, running, journaling, etc., etc., etc. Recently I even took up writing poems and haikus. I mean, what?! These were all pieces of other versions of myself that I loved, that felt like home, but that I abandoned along the way.
All of this, of course, is a work-in-progress, as life always is. I’m trying to learn to love myself through accepting all parts – even the impatience, the frustration, the rosacea, the stretch marks, the time-wasting. I’m inspecting all the the things I didn’t like about myself and all the ways I’ve altered myself to please others and I’m finally taking baby steps to return back home. I can’t ever abandon myself again, even if that means I’m not liked. Even as I type it, that is a hard pill to swallow. But, it’s necessary. I’m working on liking myself or at least accepting this self and doing what I want whether it pleases someone else or not. Some days are better than others. Sometimes I falter and edge toward some promising new, but ultimately, untrue version of “me”. Some days I’m smiling, head held high, happy with who I am. I’ll get there – to the full love for myself…. or I’ll die trying.
My Fail Better 