Yesterday I showed my face on Facebook.
You’re probably wondering, okay, what’s the big deal? To understand the big deal is to understand me. I hate having my picture taken. My hands sweat and get freezing cold and clammy in anticipation of social situations that require me to smile and pose for the camera. My body is awkward, I don’t know where to look, how to smile, where to stand. Is it sexy to cock my head to one side? Why does my “smize” look so much less like Tyra and so much more like the little girl from The Exorcist?
I never voluntarily take selfies. I am not the one to jump up ready for a close-up. In fact, where the camera is, there I make sure not to be. But out of love for friends and family, I find myself exiting my hermit shell, putting on the social butterfly mask and modeling as the carefree 32-year-old everyone expects me to be. But inside I’m cringing, impatiently awaiting the end of my torture. I’ll often ask to see the photos that are taken and request a delete/do-over. Why? Because I know the photos will undoubtedly circulate on various social media sites despite my fondest wish that they never be seen. I secretly want to ask that my face be blurred out in those cases, but I fear that will only enable my laundry list of insecurities.
While I will never be (and wouldn’t want to be) the girl clogging your timeline with 1,000 selfies a day, I know I can stand to have a better relationship with my self image. Someday I hope to see my reflection the way my loved ones do. Where I concentrate on my imperfections, they see beauty. Yesterday was a start.
Maybe someday I’ll be brave enough to willingly show my face to the world.