The other night at dinner I really felt the sting of it all: What I look like on the outside vs what is going on on the inside. Trying to be self-deprecating and oh-so-cavalier I admitted to a financial boo-boo. My dear friend, EuroTrash Girl, seemed so surprised and said that I always seemed "to be so put together". Liar. I felt so much like I let her down; like I let myself down--like my panties were showing as I walked down the wedding aisle of life. Now, EuroTrash Girl loves me and cares for me and wants nothing but the best for me, but I instantly wished that I hadn't said anything out loud about how much I suck at this life. Faker.
What I didn't share is how I wake up late for work every single day and that my roots are always grown out and how I don't have enough money in savings and I work only to pay my house and cover my roots. Phony. And how I have a limited education. Stupid. And how I now have to see a psychologist. Crazy. And how I want to be a perfectionist but I am really lazy and an expert at nothing and how I need friendship and acceptance and a decent nights sleep but get neither and none and don't know how to go about getting either or any. Complainer. And how I want to be an example and mentor to young women but have such trouble connecting. Dumbass. Like a broken record once it gets stuck in that groove--over and over and over--Darya's greatest hits of suckiness. It becomes a kind of mantra and not in a good way. Am I covering up for my inadequacies? Am I
trying to distract you with the shiny and pretty because there is really nothing of substance behind the newest skinny cammo jeans that I am wearing? I have my theories, and they vary from day to day and
mood to mood.
But there is something about saying your fears/lies/stories/make-believe out loud--you don't have to be held prisoner any longer. The worst thing that could have happened happened and life went on just like before. EuroTrash Girl shook her head at me and said that she just never really would have guessed it, but she didn't really judge me and the dinner table talk turned to something better and we shared an entrees and a bottle of wine and our husbands talked about work and surf and EuroTrash Girl and her husband shared the details of their recent dream trip to Gibralter and all was good. Really good. We paid our share of the bill and teased with the waiter and closed the restaurant down. So, while I felt judged--I really wasn't, well, at least not by her--I was doing the only judging against me that night at the table. I sure didn't treat myself like my own best friend. Maybe the only young lady I am really meant to mentor is myself.
Darya, I would like for you to meet Darya--now go be best friends!