Confidence is a funny thing. See, you’re supposed to have some of it (otherwise you just seem pitiful) but not too much (you just seem pretentious). It’s a very delicate balance, and I just don’t know how to get there.
My physical body often portrays confidence. My mouth says words that mean I am confident. My smile suggests that I am happily confident. But my gray matter is often full of thoughts just as dismal. Thoughts of, “You’re not good/smart/pretty/[insert quality here] enough.” I don’t mean this to sound pitiful. I mean this as truth.
I was recently reminded that I’m pretty much the only person who sees my lack of confidence, my insecurities. I’m the only one who hears my self-deprecating thoughts. I’m the only one affected by my shortcomings. I apparently display a healthy level of confidence.
I’ve had people tell me (heck, I’ve told other people): “Fake it till you make it.” I’ve believed for so long that if I just pretend, I’ll eventually think that my (better) make believe life is reality. But that’s a lie. I don’t feel any more confident at the end of the day – I feel worse for not letting people see my shortcomings.
Confidence is a funny thing.