This is me first thing in the morning. This is as real as it gets. No make-up. No brush through the hair. Or teeth. (Thank god you can't smell this post.) Just dark circles. Greasy hair. Moles. I can't tell you how many years I spent obsessively loathing them. And my least favorite, my huge forehead, complete with wrinkles. Unless my thin stringy hair is my least favorite. Ok, let's just call it a tie on that one.
When I started this blog two and a half years ago, there is no way I would have posted a picture of myself on the internet like this. Hell, I wouldn't have even let anyone take a photo of me without make-up. Not that I've ever worn a lot of it. Except for those few times in college. But, as I've told you before, I'm a complete perfectionist. And this picture? It's way too truthful.
This is the real me.
You can see my inadequacy. If you look hard enough maybe you can even see my life long struggle with depression. Which I figure is an old bedfellow of my perfectionism. And, I suspect that my perfectionism and my depression may have had a ménage à trois with shame on more than one occasion. In fact, I'm sure of it.
I know this is gonna sound all Eat, Pray, Love-barf-in-your-mouth-ish, but I have been transformed. Oh, I'm still not confident. I probably never will be. I've accepted that now. Although, through writing, I've shed some of the inhibitions that were my toxic paramours. Not that they don't still linger and stalk me. They do. But they can't conceal me anymore. Because I've stripped away some of the layers to reveal the real me.
The one I'm just getting to know myself.