scribblechic

Yesterday I allowed a superficial distraction too much importance over my thoughts. One image invited an internal dialogue of unkind criticism for old insecurities; each physical fault a validation of a greater generalization of unworthiness.

In the poorly lit space of the driver’s license bureau, a notoriously predictable bad picture produced an emotional response I couldn’t shake. My husband didn’t understand my reaction any more than my internal voice of reason could command control of my thoughts.

In that moment I was the overweight child in corduroy pants; the teenage girl with poor skin; the young woman navigating an unfamiliar body after baby. I could feel the transparency of each imperfection mocking my performance of self.

Sometimes bad lighting, a poorly timed blink, or unflattering angle distort an image into something untrue, but perhaps our responses are a greater reflection of self. Whatever I sought in my assessment, my eyes looked first to unattractive assumptions.

It was tempting to skip this truth, to stuff inconvenient emotions and unkind thoughts into a drawer like an unflattering photograph; to pretend a greater confidence of character than I felt, but I don’t believe I am alone. I know too many beautiful souls who shy away from what they see in their own image while looking first to the beauty in others.

In this experience I saw a woman who curled submissively into an assumption of inadequacy that informs a one-dimensional expectation of self. A performance of mediocrity that illuminates imperfections without allowing for a metamorphose of a more elegant posture of self.

I didn’t see the woman I am in a photograph or the woman I want to be in my response, but I’m working on the answer.

Tagged: Musings, Self