My
mom used to say, “you’re going out of the
house like that?!”, “where is your
lipstick”? She is old school Italian and I love her with all my heart but
we are different, a lot different. She always
puts on lipstick before stepping out of the house, out of the car, out of the
booth at the restaurant. It’s one of those quirky, beautiful things that makes
my mom who she is and stand out. However I can leave the house with my hair in
a bun, with sweats on and barely any make-up and feel fine but that was not
always the case.
For
as long as I can remember, I used to always ask for approval: “do I look
okay?”, “do you like my haircut?”, “what do you think about this idea?” I
always needed someone else’s validation- whether it be advice on what I was
wearing or if I had what it took to write a book. I needed good feedback to
feel that I could really go for my ideas. However, if the response was not what
I was looking for than my heart would sink as the fire within me fizzled. I was insecure and afraid to just be me.
I
remember one day I went to the supermarket with my mom sans makeup, we parted
ways to get different items and this young gentlemen approached my mom. He told
her that I was a gorgeous girl and if he was taller that he would ask me out
(I’m 5’10). My proud mom raved about me and how I was her daughter and then
went on to tell me about her encounter. I will never forget that day because I
seriously did not do a thing to look good. I had my hair up and no makeup on
yet he thought I was pretty. It came as a surprise to me as I never really
thought I could quite possibly be cute just as I am. Unfortunately, it took a
butcher at the store for me to realize that I was putting too much time
wondering what other people thought of me and needed to just be me.
When
I started sharing my writing, I was terrified. I had the passion to share the
good, bad and ugly- but the cost of sharing was that others would know my
baggage. But I decided to put myself out there because others put themselves
out there for me in the past. Over time people would reach out to me about my posts
and tell me how much it meant to them. One friend even told me that she made a
folder with my name on it where she kept all my posts when she needed
inspiration. I was so shocked. My
writing could really mean that much to someone? That was mind bottling to me and
I felt so incredibly humbled.
