Thanks to my pal Sleepy New Mommy, I discovered the 30 Days of Truth challenge. There is no way that I will complete the list, as when I read it, I couldn’t think of anything to write about for several of the topics. But I will pick and choose a few here and there, as I feel the need.
The first on the list is quite personal, yet not nearly the most difficult. Something I hate about myself…hmm, I can think of plenty. And hate is a strong word for many of these, but there is definitely a strong dislike for several.
I hate that I am so shy. People that meet me in comfortable circumstances, or under the influence, don’t believe that I am. But those who are close to me know the truth. I hate that I can’t approach strangers for something as simple as asking for directions. I hate that in a crowd of strangers, I freeze up. I’ve always wanted to be the girl that could talk to anyone, but I just can’t. I suppose opposites really do attract, because I’ve always tended to date guys who have no problem being the center of attention. I hate that I’m terrible at small talk, and I look away and can’t ever think of anything to say. Even at work, with just a small group of people that I have known for several months now, I can’t get up the nerve half the time to say what I want to say, unless it’s a smart ass comment. When I hear that we are having a meeting, I panic, because I know that whatever I do say will sound completely lame and unintelligent, even if I run through it in my head a hundred times before.
I hate that I can’t stand up to people. I know that’s rooted in my shyness, which I firmly believe is genetic and came from my father. I hate that others view me as a doormat, and I hate that I sometimes view myself that way. I hate that I can’t say ‘no’ to people, and often stretch myself too thin because I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.
I hate that I’m afraid of so many things in life. I’m terrified of heights. When I get on a plane, I’m sure it’s going to crash. When I drive my car, I have visions of a bridge collapsing underneath me, of accidentally crashing through a guardrail and landing in the water, of the 18-wheeler in front of me skidding to a stop and leaving me with no reaction time. When I drive with my sunroof open, I imagine that I will have an accident and my car will flip, thus leaving me to scrape the top of my head off through the sunroof. Ridiculous, I know, but that’s how I feel. And I hate that.
I hate that I have zero willpower and can’t commit to a healthy lifestyle. I always tend to go to the gym in spurts, and then something happens to derail me, and it takes me weeks to get back into it. In the meantime, I eat like shit and feel terrible about myself. I recently found out that I have high cholesterol, which scares me to death, since everyone in my family seems to die of heart issues. Every day I say, “Okay, tomorrow I will drink only water and eat baked chicken and go to the gym, because I don’t feel like having a heart attack at 40.” But that was three weeks ago, and I haven’t done anything about it. And I hate that.
Reading through all of that makes me hate even more that I feel that way, and it sounds pathetic. I will say this: I love the fact that I am a loyal friend, wife, daughter and sister. I would fight to the death for my loved ones and I will seriously hurt anyone that tries to hurt my dog. I love that I have a good heart, and I love animals with a passion. I like to think that people can count on me in times of need. And although I never know the right thing to say, it’s always in my heart. I’m just too scared to say it.