Two facts about me: I am fat and I have high self-esteem.
When I was in school studying music, every week the voice students would gather for a chance to perform for our peers, who would then give praise and critique as appropriate. On one such occasion, I crushed it. I knew I crushed it. Afterward, we all gushed over each others’ classroom triumphs (we were all friends, ‘twas a small liberal arts school). Except for me. Not one person told me I had done a good job. Note: It’s not like I never received praise, I had generally very supportive friends, but I remember feeling that this was a distinctively impressive performance and that I was receiving a distinct lack of comment. I remember feeling a little sad, a little lonely, walking back to my room and generally getting over it.
Enter: alcohol.
Weeks later I was at party and the aforementioned affirmational deficit came up somehow. I must have said something like “No one ever compliments me after Voice Lab”—which was stupid—and I will never forget what my friend said in response to that.
“We don’t need to compliment you because you compliment yourself enough”
I’m sure, at the time, I laughed it off with some agreeable and self-deprecating joke, but the longer I thought about what she said, the deeper her words rooted in me.
That day in class, it was clear that I knew I had done a good job It was also clear that others were less secure, or at least appeared less secure, in their abilities. So in that moment, and it seemed as a general practice, my friends validated those they felt needed it more.
And they were right. I did not need their validation. I did, however, need affirmation, which is a different thing. I wanted the people I cared about and respected to reflect back to me the person I was striving to be. Instead, I garnered the reputation of being a “Diva”, and though not expressly said, it was made clear that I was expected to display a much more muted version of myself.
Why I did I need to make myself smaller so that I might only shine as brightly as those around me? I’m not sure I could have articulated this at the time, I only new that I shouldn’t have to feel less, or receive less, for others to feel more. We should all feel good, and we should all be told we are good.
My feelings on this became clearer as I embarked upon a number of romantic entanglements. I was constantly frustrated with the general inability of men to allow themselves to be desired without feeling smothered. I found it extremely difficult to express my interest in someone without appearing “needy”. I also found it difficult to reconcile my independent pride with the fact that I deeply wanted a partner.
I really hate the whole “you complete me” thing. I firmly believe that one should be individually complete, and that relationships are extensions, or new entities entirely. If you have fundamental deficiencies, they should not be filled by another person, they should be filled by personal growth and understanding. I do, however, believe that people have strengths and weaknesses that can be complemented by a partner. It took a lot of shitty dating for me to finally articulate (and accept) that, though I do not need a man to validate me, I need (and I think most people need) someone in my life to provide steady and constant affirmation.
Beyond romantic relationships, this notion that we (specifically women) should be small(er) has been deeply woven into our culture. So much so, that I recently described myself to a friend as having a “disproportionate amount of confidence”. This opens a whole other can of worms—can I really call myself a confident person while believe the confidence I have is not deserved?
I think I’m fucking great. I do. Whether or not that confidence is based on concrete or self-imposed reality is irrelevant. People have often labeled me as selfish. In reality, I don’t really spend that much time thinking about myself. Shocking, I know. I think about how my actions are perceived by and affect others, and I think about the impact I have and want to have on the world, but beyond that, I don’t come up all that much. When I do think of myself, I think very highly, but that classifies me as a narcissist, not selfish, and I will proudly wear that label. In fact, I think we should all be narcissists. Narcissism and selfishness are not synonyms, and I would argue that the former only becomes an issue when infused with the latter.
We should all strive to be selfless narcissists.
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