Last night, I attended an Arbonne party hosted by the girlfriend of one of the guys in my office. I went with some trepidation because buying makeup is such a ridiculously involved psychic process for me. I can't just buy a $40-$50 bottle of Clinique or Chanel's latest and greatest foundation. I have to sit at the Nordstrom counter with a plaintive expression, explaining each square inch of my facial topography to the hapless makeup artist who has a flawless complexion and just wants to ring me up, give me my bonus bag and then move on to the next middle aged woman. I'm obsessed with my appearance, and not in a good way. There couldn't be a harsher critic of my hair, face, weight, manicure, pedicure, etc.
I hesitate to even blog about this bullshit, because frankly I'd like to kick my own ass for such a stupidly selfish "poor me" attitude. And I KNOW that the 2002 version of me who had to count each and every penny, and who scratched and scraped for years would absolutely spit in the face of such self indulgence. But the thing is, I've been working with my therapist on this very problem for a year and a half (and the problem itself has had 25 years to gain a stronghold on my psyche) and while I'm infinitely better than I have been, I'm not to the point where I can look in a mirror and think, "You look nice," let alone "I.Rock." I look in a mirror and I see hair that needs colored, but is damaged from the overabundance of spendy products I saturate it with every morning. I see the rosacea that's popped up on my left cheek in the last year, the amateurish effort at eye makeup application, the dry and peeling complexion that is visible only in the 12x magnifying mirror I have suction cupped to my side of the sink or the chip in my nail polish that I'm sure will convince the general public that I'm unfit to take up space on the planet (I'm only slightly exaggerating about that last statement. With little effort, I could actually convince myself of that fact).
I sat at this guy's house last night as two twenty-something girls lectured a group of ladies about the benefits of their beauty line. They were excellent ambassadors for their product-their skin was radiant, they both looked naturally and effortlessly beautiful, and honest to God, they were glowing. Oh my lord, I wanted to look like that...I didn't care if it cost me $600 and a box full of products that will join all the other products that I never use in the bottom middle drawer of my vanity, which is nothing more than a graveyard of anti-aging promises. Once we were done with the testimonial portion of the evening, I was sidetracked by a conversation with an agent I'd hired five months ago. He and I hadn't had a chance to talk for more than five minutes since he started at our firm, and I was pleased to learn he was thrilled with the decision he made to join us. Our conversation lasted close to an hour, and effectively eliminated my chance at sampling the wares being promoted. I left with a catalog, and a promise to sit down and sample the merchandise in a less disruptive environment.
This morning instead of setting up another appointment, I ended up actually having an episode of self loathing so severe that I ended up in Steve's workshop in tears, crying on his very dusty shoulder unable to articulate what the frigging hell was (IS) wrong with me. I realized that spending my very hard earned money on these products isn't going to change anything about the way I feel about myself. Historically, my lack of self confidence has affected my relationships, my work, my wallet and ultimately my mental stability. It's still nearly impossible (which is a huge step up from utterly unthinkable) to give myself credit for any success or accomplishment I earn. If someone tells me I look nice, I might get a "thank you" out, but I'll be sure to point out all the things that are wrong with my suit (Oh, thanks, but jeez, I spilled the foam of my latte all over myself this morning-can't you see the stain?) I still deflect 90% of the compliments I receive.
Last week, during a recruiting interview my boss and I were conducting, the recruit began to praise the job that I do and told my boss I was an excellent representative of the company. The two of them exchanged more compliments about me and I was so exquisitely uncomfortable I just wanted to crawl under the conference room table and disappear. A normal person would bask in the moment's glory, but I had to restrain myself from providing them with all the evidence that disputed their kind words. As well as I thought I'd contained my self deprecating thoughts, my boss cornered me later and asked why I don't have more self confidence. (This man is shrewd, but I also have an inability to lie or hide my feelings well.) He used our interview subject as an example and pointed out that there's plenty of other people that feel just as he does, so why the hell don't I believe it? I couldn't answer it, but assured him that Patty the Therapist and I are hard at work on that very issue.
Today, I should be grateful for everything I have-a new husband, wonderful children, a job that I love, a new car, a fairly new house, but I'm still stuck on my (perceived) deficiencies. There's no magic pill for this problem, nobody can fix it but me. I desperately want to be better soon, but the old habits keep creeping up, sabotaging me at every turn. What the hell is wrong with me????
(heeyyyy, at least it looks like the writer's block has lifted!)