Still Insecure

#BeReal Image of me without make-up on left, wrinkles and turkey neck evident. Image of me with make-up and hair blown dry straight on right, no wrinkles or turkey neck in evidence.

Hastywords asked me to participate in her #BeReal campaign. On my first response to one of her questions, I showed my insecurity rather than my confidence. Both are just as much a part of me. Just as real. I am not without self-doubt or self-loathing. I am both confident and insecure.

Here is her question and my first response. (I rewrote it and sent her a more confident response for publication.)

Q: What do you think most people think about you by just seeing your picture?

A: Left-hand image: middle-aged, fat, plain, sex-less. Right-hand image: white privileged bitch.

Honestly, I have no desire to analyze my response. Only want to put it out there. Sometimes I feel good about myself, other times I do not. I am not as sexy as I once was.

I do not present myself as sexy, for that would be inappropriate. My son would die of embarrassment, and my husband prefers that I present that side of myself in private only to him.

I am aware that I am privileged. I know that. I look like the educated, upper middle class suburban mother that I am. When I speak, I often use big words, which can be offputting. Not everyone likes me. So be it.

A Love Letter to Anyone and Everyone with a Mental Illness

Sam Dylan Finch’s love letter is beautiful, powerful, honest, and full of love, understanding and wisdom.

Let's Queer Things Up!

loveletterConfession: Sometimes I feel unlovable. Sometimes I feel unworthy.

Sometimes I look at the scattered marbles strewn across my mind and think to myself, “Who could love something so disassembled, something so broken?”

In this society, we are taught that the worst thing for a lover to be is “crazy,” and that being “crazy” makes us deserving of our loneliness and our longing.

To be “crazy” is to be unworthy, to be unwanted.

Confession: Sometimes I want to run away. Sometimes, even after getting married and even after a thousand “I love you, I need you, I want you’s” – written, spoken, texted, felt – I fantasize about taking the train as far away as I can go, up the coast where no one can find me.

Sometimes in our desperation, we isolate ourselves, fearful of what it means to be seen, to be visible, to be known.

Confession: I…

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