Insecurities

If you want to skip over this post, by all means, do so. There's not really anything interesting in it. It's just me rambling about things. No pictures, no digiscrap templates or pages, no kid updates - nothing fun and interesting like that. So unless you want to delve into my psyche with me, feel free to skip this post.

No, it's just me, trying to sort through my insecurities and self esteem issues. And I doubt anyone's really going to bother reading this anyway. I think only a tiny handful of people actually read things here anyway. Sure, I have some followers, but I think they're only here for the free templates. I don't think anyone (besides like, my parents and a couple others) actually *read* what I post. I doubt even my closest friends read it. I know my husband doesn't, but he's not much of a computer person - and everything I post are things he already knows about anyway.

So why am I bothering to write it out here? It's therapeutic. Writing always has been for me. I *did* get my degree in English, after all. And maybe this is partially a cry for help, I don't know. But mostly, I just need to get it out. It's been eating away at me for ages.

This isn't anything new and revolutionary. It isn't one of those "I just woke up to an amazing revelation" moments. No, this is something I've had problems with for YEARS. And I probably always *will* have issues with it.

If you've bothered to read this far (which I doubt), you're probably wondering what the heck I'm talking about. It's hard to explain. I'm struggling to put these feelings into words...but I'll try. I need to get this out. On "paper."

I am insecure. Not with my husband or my children, but with myself. With my parenting abilities, with my appearance, with my so-called talents, with my social skills. I feel like I'm the worst mom and housekeeper. My house is a sty more often than not and my poor kids have to put up with ME everyday. I know. Putting up with me is torture in and of itself. You know the old adage "when Mom's not happy nobody's happy?" Yeah, it's true. When I'm grouchy, everyone else is, too. And then I get MORE grouchy - especially when my 2 year old reprimands me with "no fussing, Mommy" or "Mommy needs a time out."

And I'm horribly selfish. I know parenthood is supposed to be selfless, but I...am a selfish brat. There's really no other way to say it. I really am a selfish brat. Especially with my poor husband. I try not to be, and I really don't *want* to be that way, but...I don't really know how *not* to be. I don't know how to change that.

I do think I'm a good mom, for the most part. There's definitely room for improvement, but then, isn't there always? The main thing is that my kids know they are loved, and they're clothed, fed, and happy. It seems like all the other moms out there have everything perfectly together with healthy homemade meals every night, immaculate homes, perfectly behaved children, flawless marriages, etc...and I don't. I honestly don't know how they do it. My house is a sty and we frequently eat lazy meals. And I probably spend too much time at the computer. I'm a horrible homemaker - which sucks because that is one of my 2 primary roles.

And my appearance. Oh, my appearance. I could write a novel on this one. But I won't, since it's not the main thing bothering me right now. Suffice it to say, I'm fat, ugly, and grotesque. I may technically weigh less now than I did when I got pregnant with my first baby, but you totally can't tell. I'm all stretched out into all kinds of grossness. I shed a ton of weight the first couple months after Hyrum was born (double what I gained), but the weight loss halted when I had my gallbladder removed. I've been pretty much stagnant ever since. I go walking...but I also eat too much junk. I'm a stress eater, which certainly doesn't help. And the stretchmarks. Oh, the stretchmarks. I still have an inner-city road map all across my abdomen - and my baby is 6 months old. I'm thinking Paris. Have you seen how crazy the roads (and drivers) are there? Especially around L'arc de Triomph. INSANE. As for the road map of stretchmarks, I don't think it'll ever go away.

But the main thing that's been bothering me lately are the social interaction insecurities. I feel like I'm so socially awkward these days. Granted, my daily social interaction typically consists of "Emma, do you need to go potty?" and "are you hungry, Hyrum?" Sometimes I feel like I don't know how to talk to adults other than my husband. And when I *do* get to talk to other adults, I'm so awkward and nerdy, which only makes me *more* nervous, and therefore, more awkward and nerdy. I feel like an outsider on my own conversations. It seems like I'm only invited into a conversation because others feel sorry for me. "Oh, poor Sara; she's a stay at home mom who doesn't have any friends." Yeah, pretty much.

Sure, I guess I kind of have friends. I mean, people are nice to me and I'm nice to them and all that. No one's ever blatantly rude to me or anything. Well, other than my relatives;) Everyone is polite and tries to include me when we go to church activities and whatnot. But no one really seeks out my friendship. Everyone else seems to be super close friends with each other and always doing fun things together...and I am never invited.

I'm sure it's mostly my own fault since I rarely invite others to do things with me. But that's mainly because I'm so preoccupied with keeping my family clothed, fed, and happy. I don't like to be in charge of social gatherings. I like to go to them, but I don't like hosting much.

All the same, I feel like people only think of me when they see me, and more of as an after thought. Or maybe when they see my Facebook status. Certainly not as a priority or anything. By "people" I mean people other than my immediate family. Obviously, my children and husband see me as a central figure in their lives. But do I really matter to anyone else? ...Probably not. At least, not very much.

What really stings is when I'm in a conversation with a group of people and they're all talking about something funny that happened when they were all hanging out together - when of course I wasn't invited to that gathering. And while the story may be hilarious, I sit there thinking, "ouch," like an outside witness to everyone else's lives.

And to add insult to injury, someone (no idea who, honestly) dropped me as a Facebook friend today. When I was already feeling like this. Thanks. I'm sure it's someone I don't really know, and therefore who doesn't really know me, but still. Ouch. "Why don't you just give me a paper cut and pour lemon juice on it?" (Now envisioning cries of "Humperdink! Humperdink! Humperdiiiink! Humperdink Humperdink Humperdink." Ah, classic.)

I feel like people don't really like me. Like they're nice to me only because they "have" to be, because it's rude *not* to be. Not because they actually care about *me*. Maybe I feel this way because *I* don't truly like me. Maybe it's a result of a lifetime of insecurities and self esteem issues, a lifetime of seeking out validation from others and not receiving it, when I should be seeking it from my Heavenly Father. He loves me, regardless of whether others do or not. My husband and children love me, too - though I can't fathom *why*.

It's hard to remember that, though, when I try to interact with those I see as friends. And fail miserably because I totally sound like the biggest, most awkward nerd ever.

I probably need some sort of therapy. Not that I could afford it. I'm having a hard enough time trying to justify asking my husband for this necklace for my birthday next month. He's a sweetheart and I know he'll want to get it for me...I just can't justify the expense to myself right now. I have a hard time spending money on things just for *me* when we have to worry about rent, utilities, diapers, clothing for kids, etc.

I hesitated to write this because I don't want people to make me their charity pity case. I want people to like me for *me*, not because they feel sorry for me.

Now that I've awkwardly typed your poor eyes off (not that anyone's read this far anyway), I'd better go see to my family. I *should* do some cleaning today. We'll see if that happens. Writing this out has made me feel better. It didn't magically solve the problem, nor did I expect it to, but it made me feel better. And that's at least a step in the right direction.