Maybe you can’t tell from this blog, but like most suburban white ladies with an inferiority complex and five (okay, okay, ten) extra pounds hanging around her hips, I have moments of extreme insecurity. Most of the time I’m your average smart-ass who could give a crap about what you think of me. Those are the days when I confidently sport my Unicorn Success T-shirt and fail to put in my contact lenses, in case you’re wondering. However, there is a chink in this armor that gets breached once in a while.
In my short career as a blogger, I’m starting to notice a pattern. About once a month (usually coinciding with Mercury in retrograde, oddly enough) as I make my daily circuit through fellow bloggers’ new material, I’ll find reasons to feel insecure and left out. I am not funny enough. I am not unique enough. NO ONE LOVES ME. Whether it’s glancing through a blogroll and noticing that I may not be on it despite being a devoted fan/comrade/peer/shrink, or worse, discovering that someone who used to frequent my blog no longer cares for me, I’ll find some reason to feel alienated and *gulp,* unpopular.
Then I go emotionally eat the Cinnabons someone at work left out on the kitchen counter.
On these days I feel like I don’t quite fit in the blogging world, and because I definitely don’t fit in the real world, this makes me teary-eyed and ready to hang up the pity-party streamers and speed-dial the local Yogurtland.
Yogurtland should really deliver.
I could go into old childhood wounds and how they shaped me as a woman blah blah, but let me just show you this picture instead:
Every woman (at least those who grew up with Welcome to the Dollhouse) knows this teenage girl who is homely, rejected by everyone, and basically a miserable outcast who just wants people to like her. Because every woman has some version of Dawn Wiener inside her. *Sniff*
Seeing as I have the added bonus of having lived with depression since I was old enough to manifest hypochondriatic illness, I have gathered a few tools for dealing with these tempting opportunities to delve deeper into pain and social pariah-dom. When I get into these funks, which are precursors to a depressive episode, I immediately seek out the help I know I need. Lord knows I tried booze and that didn’t work.
The Empress over at Good Day, Regular People taught me a lesson or two I’ll never forget, and every time I have a mini-breakdown over a blogging failure, I go over and reread those posts. That helps keep me in check. Because apparently not everything is about me. I DON’T HAVE TO BE THE PIONEER WOMAN.
*Deep breaths.* Not everyone is going to be over the moon for me. Not everyone is going to love what I write so much they will want to adopt it and nourish it and call it their sweet baby. That’s okay.
I am me, for better or worse.
If you don’t like it, well then you can suck it.
As the guru says:
Yes, Wayne is my guru. How is he any different from the Dalai Lama or Oprah?