Someone recently told me they didn’t think I loved myself enough to be in a relationship with them. It was an astute point, one I couldn’t quite argue with — though one I have spent the past four months in counseling talking about, crying about, and dealing with. You don’t have to know me for long to know that I have lived with an asshole in the room for most of my life.There he is, telling me that to love myself and have any self worth is a form of conceitedness, and that conceitedness is the evil of all evils, because I will always be proven wrong because I, myself, am wrong. I’m not sure where the asshole came from, and I kind of don’t care; he’s really impeding my style.
So, I’ve been thinking about that statement a quite a bit. Because frankly, it’s getting annoying. I’ve read — and reread — books (Codependent No More, The Power of Now, Full, Tiny Beautiful Things) and I’ve resonated deeply and felt transition stirring within me. And then yesterday was #tbt.
Can’t say I’ve ever actually partaken in #tbt (that’s “Throwback Thursday,” mom, a time when people post old photos on social media and label it with the hashtag), but yesterday as I watched everyone’s photos plaster Facebook and Instagram, I began to think about the me of yesteryear. Then, the guys at work began discussing their old Livejournal accounts, wondering if they should audition for Get Mortified. Next thing I knew, I was silently logging into my now defunct and well secured LJ — a journal I kept religiously for almost seven years, where I wrote every single day for three of those years.
I fell down a short rabbit hole after that, remembering that in conjunction with Livejournal, I had posted a lot of blogs on MySpace. Before deleting my MySpace account, I painstakingly transferred those blogs to a WordPress account that exists only as a storage method. I didn’t read much of my old work. Really, I just skimmed over a lot of it. Then, a list caught my eye.
Suddenly, I was reading something I had written in 2007, and it pertained so deeply to my headspace right now, I couldn’t believe it. I felt almost as though past Alicia wrote this list for future Alicia.
I’m sharing it here as a minuscule reminder of a few things: that deep inside, I know my worth. And that also, it’s okay to share said worth. Here’s the original post, titled, Lucky (and yes, I did not use capital letters with any regularity until around 2009). Oh mom…there is one thing in here you probably really don’t want to read.
in the spirit of albertson’s becoming lucky’s again, i thought i’d write down some of the reasons you’d be lucky for me to be your girlfriend (or friend).
and i’d like to encourage other people out there to do the same. too often we’re self deprecating instead of self-affirming. so throw that malarkey out the window for the next ten minutes and write down what makes you eff-ing remarkable.
– i just want everyone to be happy.
– i’m more interested in you just being yourself than anything else (besides everyone being happy).
– i handwrite letters that i then place postage on and mail. sometimes i do this drunk.
– i make great company due to my love of talking, listening, board games, card games, drinking, hiking, adventuring, prowling, getting up early, staying up late, eating, finding new things to do, creating, coloring, collaborating, questioning, starting conversations with strangers, shopping, stapling, running errands, watching reality television, cooking, listening to podcasts, retelling stand-up comedy, singing loudly in the car, dancing in kitchens, being hopelessly awkward at the grocery store, going to shows…
– i make kick ass magnets.
– i’m flexible. literally and figuratively.
– let’s say i don’t rock your world while going down on you. you can bet your ass i’ve got a book open the second you leave my house and i’m studying up on tricks i haven’t tried so that next time i get it fucking right.
– i’d much rather clean your apartment than my own.
– i’m so supportive of whatever it is you want to do, it’s probably a little unhealthy. but having someone on your team kicks ass.
– i like to cheer at baseball games, but i don’t like group clapping or cheering for football unless it’s the ducks.
– dinner with my parents is never boring. we discuss everything from the overuse of the word “awesome” to in-depth scientific queries about the possibility our galaxy colliding with the next one over to exact details of how a radio station works to great movies my father refuses to watch and then finally sees and loves.
– my friends are awesome. you really want to know them.
– i’m excited to go new places and take car trips and listen to new music on these car trips.
– i excel at talking to all different kinds of people: parents, friends, nieces, orthodontists, strangers. basically, i’m the kind of girl you want to bring with you to your office party because i rock at knowing nobody.
– i make everything, even scrubbing the toilet, fun.
– our conversations might end up in a story or poem i write while i’m bored at work.
– i write messages in the form of sonnets.
– i’m mediocre at a plethora of activities: running, swimming, tennis, math, logic puzzles, word games, bowling, roller skating, shoe shopping, horseback riding, tutoring, volunteering, working, designing living rooms, redecorating…basically, anything you want to do will probably work out well with me.
– one day i’m going to sing in a band, and you’ll want to get backstage to meet us.
and all i ask in return in that you be yourself, be as honest as you know how to be, and call when you’re going to be late.
ain’t it grand?
i can’t wait to go to lucky’s again. i just had a pink lady apple. i hope they have pink lady apples there.
To quote myself: Write down why you’re eff-ing remarkable. You don’t have to share it with anyone, though you are always welcome to share it here. But just write it down.