Insecurity

Have you ever noticed when you aren’t looking for advice, everyone and his brother are there to make suggestions on every possible aspect of your life? The irony of this is that when you actually need advice you get responses of sheer indifference. The famous lines, “I can’t tell you what to do on this one, dear.” “You’ll have to be a big girl and handle this on your own” oh yes and my personal favorite “Follow your heart” ring in your ears so harshly you just want to smother yourself with a pillow and forget the world exists.

When you are a teenager and left to your own devices, odds are you are going to screw up a fair amount. That’s why you have parents to tell you what to do and guide you along the way. After all, you need someone there to say “I told you so” when you fall flat on your face for the umpteenth time.

Now I am 22 years old. It would seem that saying I made my fair share of mistakes would be a mild understatement. However, I have never been arrested, I have a job that I have kept for a record 10 months now (applause) doing what I do well, and I finally am on the track to some sort of direction. In other words I am not in that bad of shape.

Don’t get me wrong, until recently I thought I was the most screwed up girl in the world. It wasn’t until I started paying attention to other people around me that I breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t just me. The neuroses that plague me on a daily basis are common of most if not all women. So if you think you are the only woman in the world who goes through the reaction of throwing shoes because your husband makes a comment about the few pounds that you put on and was hoping no one would notice, just to let you know…you aren’t alone. If any or all of the following apply to you, then be rest assured that you are not a psycho hose beast, or maybe you are, but again…you’re not alone.

Do you go postal when your man talks to another woman, or even looks at one for that matter? This is perfectly normal. The way I choose to deal with this situation is to cross my arms, sport a scowl that looks as if I just sucked on al lemon, and insist vehemently that nothing is wrong. The key to this behavior is as soon as your partner gives up and finally accepts that maybe there is actually not a problem, you must immediately break down in hysterical tears and tell him what scum he is for being attentive to any female other than you.

I am lucky enough to have a man who is very honest. Now be aware, the bad comes with the good here. I have come to believe that he lacks the part of the brain that tells him when to fib or sugar coat things to placate me. For example, we will be going out somewhere and I will get all dressed up, thinking I am hot stuff. When I emerge from the bedroom he will make some comment like “Those pants are awfully wrinkled.” Or “Wow does that shirt make you look fat.” (Bear in mind I’m a whopping 125 pounds) This always sends me back to the bedroom locking the door behind me, refusing to reappear until I try on every outfit in my wardrobe…for the fourth time. When I do finally muster the courage to unlock the door and I get the “Ah, it’s ok” response. I figure this is a passable improvement and since we are already 30 minutes late for our dinner reservations I throw in the towel on looking flawless.

So maybe we aren’t perfect. Maybe we do get pimples and bad haircuts and PMS from time to time. This doesn’t make you abnormal, or even any different from the rest of the female population. I can’t cook. I don’t get out of bed the first time the alarm goes off. I spend an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom. But I am good at what I do. I aspire to be good at other things. I take good care of myself. Most importantly I try my best and I don’t give up.
So even though I have fallen flat on my face more than my fair share of times,
It isn’t all that bad to be me.

Sure I’m insecure but what woman isn’t. I just try to tell myself that insecure does not equal immature. I just work hard and try to figure things out by living life. Even if I fail miserably time and time again, my cat will still love me.