Things I'm Afraid to Tell You

Earlier this month, several style and lifestyle bloggers had a Twitter conversation on how overstyled and perfect their lives can appear online. Most of these bloggers post highly edited photos of pretty products and clothes and houses and things they find inspirational, all of which can lead to a chasm between reality and the "presentation of reality".  The result was a "Things I'm Afraid to Tell You" challenge in which over one hundred bloggers posted about their imperfections, insecurities, and quirks. Mind you, I read through some of these posts and many of them failed to impressed me. Confessing things like "I'm an ugly crier" or "I'm terrible with names" doesn't take an immense amount of courage, in my book anyway.

Still, I appreciate the need to be candid. I've been wanting to write a "Things I'm Afraid to Tell You" post, but given my work schedule, I had to put it on the back burner until now. I think it's pretty obvious that Ranch & Chickens is *not* one of those pretty, aspirational style blogs. I've blogged about the stresses of employment and unemployment, of headaches and concussions, about the difficulties of deployment and about feeling lonely. That said, I realize that my photos and travels may paint a picture rosier than the reality that is my life. And even when it appears that I've drawn back the curtain, I've still kept a great deal hidden from view.

So here we go.

I worry that my ex-boyfriend from law school will find me. I am scared of him. The last time I saw him was at a friend's wedding reception at which he started yelling at me and punched my date in the face. He later stalked me via email and phone. I got a restraining order but it expired shortly after I left DC. I I frequently have nightmares that he's chasing me or has hired someone to kill me.

I live in a small (but cute) apartment in an older building. The hallways frequently reek of pot. I see a lot of sketch people wandering around my neighborhood. I have very little furniture, aside from my bed, desk, dresser, and bookshelves. I usually eat dinner off of my end tables, partly because I'm a minimalist, partly because I'm waiting for J to come home before we buy furniture. But for someone who graduated from three Ivy League schools, I feel like I have very little to show for my education other than my student loans. Many of my classmates have paid off their debt, bought $600,000+ homes, and enjoy a certain level of stability and security. Would I trade my life experiences for their financial security? I suppose not, especially if it meant having to spend the past seven years at a law firm, but there are times--many times--that I just don't feel like a real adult. I'm able to joke about it with my friends and coworkers, but it bothers me more than I let on.

I was terribly insecure in college. I was surrounded by brilliant people for whom the intellectual rigors of Yale came easily. I knew my classmates would be smart, but coming from a mid-sized city in Ohio, I was wholly unprepared for how much more cultured and capable my peers seemed. My classmates were kids who attended Stuy or Andover or boarding schools in London. Kids who were part of the Juilliard pre-college division and whose music skills vastly outshone mine. Wealthy international students who had grown up in cosmopolitan cities and had traveled all over the world. I remember eating dinner with one of my friends--a sweet, unassuming girl--and she told a childhood story about playing hide and seek with her eight maids. Turns out that her godfather is the king of Thailand. Yeah. I did "catch up" over time, more so in the culture than in the smarts department, but I'm sure that I'll never fully fit in with certain "elite" Yale crowds. I'm okay with that.

So what did I do in response to my insecurity about my intellectual and musical abilities? I slacked off. I did the minimum amount of work it took to do reasonably well--that way, if I didn't do as well as I had hoped, I could just say that I didn't try hard enough. I decided to not play in the Yale Symphony Orchestra even though I had been accepted after a crappy audition for which I didn't adequately prepare. You can't fail based on your ability (or lack thereof) if you didn't actually try in the first place. You can't critique your potential (or lack thereof) if you purposely don't fulfill it. Ditto for law school.

Eventually, I was able to hold my own at Yale, but did I excel? I suppose that's all relative. If you ask my mother, I'm sure she'd narrow her eyes and point out how my friends have fared far better than I.  WM, my best friend in college, graduated from Harvard Business School and manages the watches and jewelry division at Chanel. She also happens to be gorgeous. My other best friend, BG, graduated from Harvard Law School, worked at the most prestigious law firm in the country, and is a successful corporate lawyer living with her banker husband in London. Or take JN: JN double majored in economics and political science at Yale, wrote articles with law school professors as an undergrad, graduated summa with the highest GPA in the entire school, was president of Phi Beta Kappa, won a Marshall Scholarship to Oxford, graduated from Yale Law School, clerked for the Supreme Court, worked in the White House, and will start teaching at one of the top law schools in the country this autumn. JN is also one of my nearest and dearest friends and is just an amazing person (as are WM and BG), so I am so happy for and proud of her. I also learned to stop comparing myself to my peers and make peace with my decisions. But during my freshman and sophomore years when I first met JN and similar others, was I insecure about my own shortcomings? Absolutely.

A much more significant factor that contributed to my insecurity was my college boyfriend. He constantly told me things I needed to change about myself. He thought I should pierce my ears. He wanted me wear my hair a certain way. He was possessive and jealous yet told me I was clingy. He thought Cantonese girls weren't as pretty as Taiwanese and Shanghainese girls, but he'd make an exception for me because I didn't *really* look Cantonese. These and other criticisms took a toll on me--I had never been the "pretty one" (that was WM), but my ex just gave me more reason to doubt my looks. Oh, and when I broke up with him after a long period of fighting, he told me that he was the best I'd ever find. What an arrogant asshole. Luckily, I knew enough by that point to dismiss his comments as utter crap, but a lot of damage had been done.

I now realize that many of my ex's criticisms stemmed from his own insecurities--he wasn't used to being a smaller fish in a big pond (or dating a girl who got better grades than he did)--but even still, it's difficult to forgive such behavior. I find insecurity to be no excuse for a lack of consideration. Do I still have insecurities? Of course. We all do. But I don't deal with them by pointing out J's flaws in an attempt to make myself feel better...hell, I just beat myself up.

Which leads me to my next point: I worry that I'm not good enough for J. I'm not the nicest person, for one thing. I can be snarky, judgmental...some might call me elitist? I tend to find fault with things and people (not J)--it's a trait that I inherited from my mother and one that I'm keen to shed. How was I so lucky to be blessed with such a wonderful, patient, and kind husband? ST and I have joked that her maid of honor speech should start with "S and J are a great couple. J is the nicest guy in the world, and S was a total bitch until she met J." 

But it's not just about being nice enough. It's about being pretty enough. Talented enough. Creative enough. Patient enough. Strong enough. I know I don't have to be good at everything or be all things to all people, but what if I'm never enough?

So there it is. And I've only listed a few of the things I'm afraid to tell you. If you blog, I hope you'll feel inspired to join in the fun (ha) and share your fears. Be brave, you know you want to.