It’s embarrassing to admit that I don’t like myself very much. Far more embarrassing, though, to tell you all that sometimes I think I’m OK. The latter carries way more shame, I want to whisper it in small-font italics. Sometimes I think I’m quite good, actually. Occasionally the tall, loud, brash, opinionated mess that makes up ‘me’ doesn’t feel so obnoxious. I like myself when I’m with you.
The morning after a night out with other people, I tear myself to pieces with hungover shame. This joke I made wasn’t as funny as I thought. That comment wasn’t interesting. The song we all joined in with at the end? I was singing too loudly.
I drank too much, held court too much, took up too much space. Went in for a cheek kiss when they wanted a hug, offered a hug when they wanted to walk away. Bought shots when the tone wasn’t right for them, talked far too much about fucking. At the end of the night, I stumbled along the train platform and although I didn’t trip, I’m pretty sure there was a slur to my gait that strangers would have noticed.
I am so ashamed, all the time, of who I am. The agony of it makes my skin itch and my bones feel weak beneath my flesh.
I’m too much.
Too emotional: I cry at the drop of a hat. Too loud: I get overenthusiastic and talk as if people always wanna hear an exuberant story. Too tall: intimidating. Too brash: people don’t want to hear about sex all the time.
Too much, too much, all the fucking time just too fucking much.
I don’t particularly like myself, though I’m sure I used to. Many years ago before I got weighed down by critique. When I was younger and bolder, before my confidence had its rough, interesting edges worn down to smooth. Before I became easy to swallow. Gentler and kinder and more compliant and above all – always – sorry.
Very sorry.
Sorry for being loud, I got overexcited. Sorry for talking about my work, I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. Sorry for singing, sorry for drinking, sorry for the fact that my body’s just a lot bigger than I want it to be – it’s clumsy and it gets in everyone’s way.
I like myself when I’m with you, though.
I feel like I make better jokes. Express bolder opinions. I’m clumsy still, but it’s funny now rather than shameful. I talk even more than I usually do, but it doesn’t feel like I’m being obnoxious or loud: I’m just being me and that’s fine.
I don’t feel like I’m too much, when I’m with you. If anything you’d like me to be more.
The morning after, I’m not kicking myself with guilt for having opinions, because you asked for them. I’m not flushed hot with shame for making jokes, because you laughed. I don’t care how much I drank because you don’t either. One day I might even sing. Full volume, off-key, belting it out in the way that feels most fun.
When I’m with you I don’t try to become less. In your company, I… whisper it, small font italics… I wonder what it might feel like to let myself be even more.
Perhaps it won’t matter how large I become, you make space for me.
9 Comments
Very nicely written
Thank you for sharing an excellent and honest post. My girlfriend often thinks the same way. Is she too loud? Is she too brash? Is she too much? And I always say ‘no love, you are you and I love you for being so’. In a world of people trying to stand out on social media and then actually just following the crowd and having the same opinions (I mean look at where we are in the world today with just trying to have a singular identity, or be7ng shamed for an opinion even; I swear we’ve gone backwards as a society!) it is a joy to read a blog with a voice. Keep going. Be as loud as you can. Give hope and advice to others. Because sometimes the world needs to be kicked into touch and we all need the stones and support to do it. And like your person with you, it is always a good thing to see encouraged.
This is such a lovely comment, thank you so much JWbenn – I really appreciate it, and I will do my best to stay loud if I can =)
Wow, you took all kinds of words I feel all the time and put them to paper perfectly.
Ah thank you C!
I feel The same with my boyfriend. I like read your blog. By the way, I was surprised to see that you published a new post today, which is my birthday. <3
Ah happy birthday! Hope you had a wonderful day =) And I’m glad this resonated – new posts usually go up on Sundays, and sometimes Wednesdays too!
When I was with my ex, I used to take nudes/semi-nudes for him *a lot* and it lessened that critical voice. I’d still maybe take a handful of the same pictures and decide which was best and possibly crop certain things out but I saw my body through his horny eyes, through our lust, love and passion and it felt wonderful.
This is a beautiful piece of writing, and I think this is how far more people feel than would admit. I can NEVER have any kind of social interaction without repeating it in my head over and over counting all the things that made me look like an idiot. Honestly, I think the people who DON’T feel like this are the weirdos.
But why is this under “Filthy Ones”?