Reframing

When I was a kid and my parents realized I needed glasses, they took me to the eye doctor, and I picked out the tackiest, most ostentatious frames a twelve year-old had ever dreamed of.  Those glasses were hella ugly, y’all, like blue and yellow and pink zigzags and dots with lenses the size of tea saucers. And I wore those ugly things for the next several years, completely oblivious to my optical faux pas.

High school called for some new frames, and the ones I ended up with weren’t much better than those hideous glasses of my preteen years.

Finally, at 35 years, I’ve reached glasses Nirvana with a pair of black wayfarers that embody my nerdy, vintage style perfectly. 

The point of this long winded trip down memory lane is to talk about the importance of reframing your outlook throughout your life. Just like I found myself new frames for my glasses for different periods of my life, so have I found new frames and perspectives as I have grown and developed as a human.

I read an amazing blog this morning that reminded me how important this reframing process is in life.  The article challenged its readers to reflect on the insecurities of their youth that they now look at as strengths. This process of reframing was so poignant and powerful to me, particularly since I’ve always struggled with overcoming my insecurities. Growing up, I hated many things about myself. My freckles. My sensitivity. My height. Nowadays, having traveled at least partway down the road to self-love, these are some of my favorite things about myself. My freckles are the constellations of my skin, charting the course of a childhood spent in the woods and in the sun. My sensitivity helps me connect with people and forge strong ties built upon empathy and trust. My height makes me feel powerful and beautiful, if not still a little awkward sometimes.

From this reflection on how my view of the insecurities of my youth have changed, it occurs to me that many, many things in life are truly about how we look at them and what lens or frame we look at them through.

We all have different frames we look through and different lens coloring our world. These frames and lens change as we grow, as we have new experiences, as we meet new people. We are lucky to be complex, evolving creatures who can embrace a variety of experiences and perspectives; we are lucky to be able to change, because change is growth.

This recent election and many of my current challenges in my own journey have made me happy that I am a fluid, open-minded creature, who can embrace many perspectives. Because here’s the thing. None of us are completely right. None of us have all the answers. None of us can be the one true ring. But together, with all of our many lens and frames and experiences and beliefs, we create this kaleidoscope of humanity that is truly something to see, something to embrace, something to learn from.

So next time you’re feeling particularly sure about an ugly pair of glasses, maybe take a moment, practice the pause, and see what other options life has in store. You just might find the wayfarers you always dreamed of.

As a kid, I loved those stupid glasses with the bright frames and huge lens. Looking back, as an adult, I completely hate them. But that’s the beauty of growing up, we can change our minds, we can be better people, and we can learn to fully love ourselves. Freckles and all.

Standing In My Own Way

Via

I made a breakthrough this morning. I won’t diminish this breakthrough by saying that it would probably not be that big of a deal to anyone else. It’s a big deal to me and that’s all that matters right now. I overcame an obstacle that was standing in the way of pursuing my dreams. I overcame myself.

I am my own obstacle, and I have been for quite some time.

When it comes to giving credit, I’m your girl. I was blessed with the ability to see good in almost everyone and everything. I love supporting others, watching them grow, helping them grow. You need a pat on the back? Give me a call. I’ll pat you on the back all day long and then tell you how awesome you are…because you are awesome, and you should know it.

But you know what? I’m kind of awesome, too. Only, I have a hard time convincing myself of that fact. In the last two years, I’ve made huge steps in making my dream of becoming a writer come true. I’ve been published. I’ve been paid. I’ve even become a contributing writer for a regional magazine. Some might even say that I am a writer now. 

And yet, despite these successes, I remain unimpressed.

Instead of looking at all the wonderful accomplishments I’ve made, I pick myself apart. I throw my flaws up to myself. I constantly say, so what? You’re still crazy. You’re still neurotic. You’re still afraid of a lot of things. When will I ever say: This is enough?

Today, I took one step closer to being able to say that.

I made two phone calls for two new magazine assignments I have.

I’ve only been writing features for this magazine a few months. My first assignment was back in October. Since then, I’ve managed to hide behind my computer. For each of my assignments so far, I did interviews through email and, if I do say so myself, I kicked ass.

Hiding behind a computer is easy. I can be everything that I want to be when I’m writing. I can be confident. I can be intelligent. I can take the time to get my wording JUST RIGHT. When you read a professional email from me, you’re going to think that I am a smart, confident, kick-ass woman. You’re going to imagine a woman in high heels with perfect hair and perfect makeup and perfect everything. She’s going to be the woman you want to hire, the woman you want on your side.

I can project that woman from the comfort of my computer. I can be that woman, because with words, I am that woman.

But truth is…when you strip away the security blanket of a computer…when you strip away my ability to think through and perfectly construct what I’m going to say…I am not that woman.

Truth is…I’m just Katie. Self-conscious, nervous, people-pleasing Katie. I twist my hair when I talk. I bite my lip. I play with my rings. I fidget. My hair isn’t perfect, and neither are my clothes. I’ll turn red and splotchy. My voice might shake…just a little.

I don’t want you to know the truth. But I don’t know why.

Because the truth is who I am, and I should be proud of that.

Today, being able to hide behind my computer ended. Both of my contacts for my new assignments wanted to talk to me on the phone. Now, you may remember that I’m telephonophobic; therefore, for the days since I found out about my assignments, I've been freaking out. We're talking panic attack city in Katie-land.

But, today, after a long pep talk from my awesome dad, I let go of that fear.

I let go of controlling my image. I let go because this was important. This was my dream. It made letting go all that much harder, but it also meant that I had to do it. There was no choice in the matter. Fear was not going to dictate another decision in my life. Fear was not going to make the choice for me. Fear was not going to waste another of my moments.

So, I picked up the phone, made two important calls, and, y'all, I kicked ass. I was that woman with the perfect words and the perfect hair...and instead of heels, I was wearing sneakers. I was that woman, because I am that woman. I am her, and she is me. 

And I’ll continue being her, as long as I stop standing in my own way.

Be who you are. Be proud of who you are. Because it’s who you are that makes you so awesome. And I’ll just keep remembering that I’m awesome, too, and maybe one day soon, I’ll even believe it. 

Today, well...I made a breakthrough today, and because of it and because of the feeling I have right now, I'll remember it forever. And when I forget...or when I feel insecure and afraid, I'll come back here. I'll remember this day. I'll remember this feeling, this pride I have in myself at this moment. And I'll kick ass again. 

Do you ever stand in your own way? Do you let fear or insecurities make decisions for you? How have you kicked ass lately?

These Hands of Mine

As I stood in the kitchen the other night, peeling potatoes and preparing supper for myself and my husband, I was struck by the motion of my hands. They slid over the potatoes confidently, quickly. They grasped the peeler with familiarity and determination.  They almost made me look as if I knew what I was doing.

And they so strongly reminded me of my mother’s hands that it caused me to stop for a moment and stare. I was mirroring the motions that I’d watch her make a thousand times before; it was almost as if they were her hands.

I’ve always been ashamed of my hands. They’re slightly pudgy. Stubby looking, if you ask me. But looking at my hands as I peeled those potatoes, I saw my mother’s beautiful, elegant fingers, and I saw just how much of her I had inside me, even in my hands. It was surreal to look down and realize that such a simple thing, a thing that I’ve taken for granted a thousand times before had actually become a part of me.

Looking at them then, in the clarity of that moment, I realized that my pudgy and homely hands were in fact the perfect and beautiful combination of both her and my father’s hands, though they may not look like either.

From Mama, these hands of mine can confidently create meals for my family, meals that bring me joy and pride as I almost instinctively follow in her footsteps in the kitchen. And it’s so much more than peeling potatoes. I see her also when I tenderly touch the forehead of a sick husband, back of hand to skin, pursed lips, a softly spoken, “Are you alright?” And it takes me back to days when only a Mama could set things right again.  

And of course, l see Daddy’s hands, too, in every callus and scar on mine. When I was in high school, I had an after school job at a local barn. I cleaned stalls and fed horses and basked in every moment of it. It was a hard job. There were days when I didn’t want to go, especially when it rained. But I always went, and on those days, Daddy would work alongside me, knee-deep in mud and manure, his hands competently helping his teenager earn money to buy books and movies and all of the things she wanted and loved. He didn’t have to, but he did.

I see his hands in mine, too, when I take the hands of my nephew to either toss him towards the sky or to keep him from bolting away in the way that toddlers are wont to do. I remember holding Daddy’s hand like that as a child, hanging from his strong grip like a monkey and knowing that he would never let go.

When I look down now, I see my own hands travel furiously over the keyboard. They’re always racing to get the next word down and to breathe life into a character or a feeling. They are my hands, pudgy and homely at worst. At best, like me, they are the sum of all my parts and the parts of the people who raised me. 

Author's Note: Sometimes all it takes is looking at a "flaw" in a new way to realize it may not be a flaw after all. I don't think I'll ever see my own hands in quite the same light again. 

What do you think of your own hands? What do you see when you look down at them?

When You Lose a Follower...

My worth is not measured in the number of Facebook "friends" I have. Nor is it measured by my Klout score or the number of followers or subscribers to my blog. The amount of comments I receive on a particular blog post does not reflect my importance or value as a person. I am not equal to the sum of my social media parts.

I should tape the statement above to my mirror. It's just one of the many things that I should read daily as a mantra, because YES, each part of that statement has been a lie at some point during the time that I have had an "online presence." I'm nearly ashamed to admit that, but I suspect I'm not the only person who has struggled with this sense of their online self.

When I first joined facebook, I was excited about the prospect of connecting with friends, both old and new. And, at first, facebook was just that: an opportunity to catch up with old friends and learn more about new friends. Then, it started becoming High School All Over Again. I worried over my friend count. I worried over the amount of likes on my status updates. I worried that So-and-So didn't like me for whatever reason.

I was disgusting.

And I have to admit I've almost always been That Girl. The girl who wants everyone to like her, the girl who wants no enemies, the girl who measures her self-worth by how others see her. This is not an easy thing to share with you (although, I've shared it before), but this space is for truth and honesty, and this is Who I Am.

Lately, I've been working on making this Who I Was.

When I logged into my Blogger Dashboard a few days ago, I noticed that I'd lost two followers. This isn't the first time I've lost followers, and it won't be the last. I may even lose followers because of this post. I've learned that this is a fact of blogging, and I'm mostly okay with that. And with Google Friend Connect possibly going away, eventually, it won't matter at all.

As a writer, I want to be validated by my readers. I want to know that what I'm writing is interesting, easy to relate to, fun to read. But at a certain point in this journey, I had to ask myself: even if I didn't receive a single comment, even if no one read my blog or my writing, would I still write?

The answer was unequivocally "YES." I would write and have written without a single reader's eyes seeing my words. I would write and have written without any followers, subscribers, or facebook friends. I would write and have written if my ever-important (please read with the sarcasm that was intended) Klout score  didn't exist.

I am forever grateful for the people whom I have connected with through social media. I am forever grateful for every reader and follower and comment. I will always be grateful that someone is willing to read my words.

But I will not be defined by any numbers or scores. I will always be me whether you like me or follow me or not. Now excuse me while I go and try to forget all my friend and follower counts, so I won't get my feelings hurt again.

Author's Note: I think we all struggle with insecurities from time to time. This is a reflection on one of my struggles. I'm not saying that I obsess over this all the time, but I would be lying to say I've never been affected by it in some way. 


Now it's your turn: how do you handle your online presence? Do you ever memorize friend counts? Or refresh a page a million times in ten minutes to see if you've gotten a new comment?