Recently, a well-meaning friend asked
why despite having everything going for me, my ‘beauty’, “great friends,
wonderful hubby, fab kids” I lacked “a lot of confidence”, pointing out that
most women would kill to be in my shoes.
Sigh. I have a complicated relationship with “confidence”. On occasions when I have received my
quota of Zzzzzz’s, had my work-out, and feel very organised, I wear confidence
like a slinky second skin. On
those OTHER days, however, that part of my personality fails to make an appearance
like a missing guest-of-honor at his own surprise party. When my GF (and no, it does not stand
for Girl Friday but girlfriend) sent me the concerned note about the missing
quality in my otherwise sparkling personality, I must confess I started crying.
Am I so transparent that she saw
through my insecurities through a few pieces of prose I had invited her to
critique? How can that be? I had not written about the boy who
used to punch me in the stomach and face if I did not allow him to spit in my
mouth -- of how I would feel so stupid (for being a coward) and dirty
afterwards. Neither did I write
about the derogatory profanity that served as a cane to whip and belittle me --
continuing until I finally left the family home for good. Of birthdays that went uncelebrated
with no cakes, presents nor parties.
Or the humilation I felt one Christmas, as eyes stinging with uncried
tears, I unwrapped my lone present - a packet of Twisties - whilst my siblings
cried out excited shouts of joy at their gifts. “Fat, ugly and stupid” were corrosive taunts fed to me on a
daily drip.
I was the girl who never spoke up because nobody bothered to
hear me. Never protected myself
against the abuse hurled at me from all sides because it would only get worse
if I did. I was the girl who had
nobody to turn to and there was not one person there for me. Better to just curl up in a ball and
say nothing. Why? Because I had begun to believe I was
worthless.
Okay, enough of the
oh-my-so-tragic-childhood! Just
give me a moment whilst I put away my violin – truth be told, at the end of the
day, yes it was a lousy childhood but there are millions who had it
considerably worse than me. But
yes, my GF is correct. If you
looked up “confidence” in the dictionary, you would never see a picture of me
beaming back at you.
Yes, I can do certain things with
confidence. Walk into a room full
of strangers and strike up a conversation. Get my daughters to giggle at how silly their mom is. Convince Matt that I am always right,
even when I’m wrong (sorry Matt!).
Top up your glass and make sure you don’t leave our home hungry. Recite the alphabet from a to z. AND, whenever I put on a pair of heels,
with those magic extra few inches -- I become the epitome of Miss Confidence! Must be the fresh air up there!
My self-assurance does however teeter
dangerously on the edge of hysterical confusion at other times. My mothering skills. If I am interesting enough to myself
and others. Do I set a good
example for my children with my choices and actions? Am I fulfilling my destiny? Am I making the right
decisions. The catalog is painfully
long so I won’t bore you any further with it!
I know I have much to work on with so
many chips on my not-so-broad shoulders and my thin skin needs toughening
up. But its okay. It keeps me busy (and out of trouble!). Taking baby steps, one
at a time, I know I will have
relapses now and again but will try to show myself kindness and be patient with myself.
They say Rome wasn’t built in a day;
so let’s just agree I’m a work-in-progress. Meanwhile, I will just have to find a way to keep my heels
on without getting a permanent backache!!
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
