*This text was written in August 2020 and edited in February 2023.
I am in the bathroom, naked, at my most vulnerable. A clique of women my age comes way too close, eyeing me from head to toe, judging every aspect of my physical appearance. I mentally curse for allowing myself the rookie mistake of going to the toilet in a less-than-perfect state. They make fun of me, repeating the hurtful adjectives they called me behind my back 12 years ago, only this time, to my face. It was just a dream, but when I woke up, my eyes were full of tears, and my mind was full of realizations.
Perfectionism is one of my most prominent flaws, although not one I mention in job interviews for fear of sounding cliché. With my body, style, performance at work, relationships, and belongings, I always strive to be the best I think they and I can be. It is a treat that I sometimes value and other times hate, but I don't remember needing to feel so in control, with so much to prove, until I turned 15, when I felt vulnerable for the sole crime of being myself. And I don't think I ever thought a lot about the origins of this behavior until the aftermath of the dream.
At that age, the confidence I had built started to shake. I cannot pinpoint an exact moment, although some were more hurtful than others. It was when I began to feel like I was not enough for not being skinny, stylish, or more adventurous. At a time when all my peers were starting to go to parties, dress pretty, and hang out with boys, I was still very much sheltered by my parents, fearful of disobeying them, and I spent a lot of time studying, with distractions like writing songs and reading love stories. My days went by in fantasies of living in the US and becoming a singer. I mistakenly thought that the teenage celebrities on Tiger Beat were trendsetters, and I emulated them. The latter is a mishap, I agree, but despite all that, I always thought I was a funny, clever, down-to-earth girl who was cultured, a great friend, and a good person. Wasn't that enough?
At some point, I found out that, although some people were not talking to me, they were talking behind me: They would say things like I had a pretty face but that it was a shame that I was so fat, that my being a fangirl was lame; that my clothes were awful; and that I was tasteless and tacky. I found out that these comments came from the cool girls or the guys I found attractive, and they somehow got to me through friends who had good intentions. But, ironically, feeling like I needed to lose weight to be held in higher regard only made me want to eat more. And with every pound gained, my confidence kept plummeting.
Of course, all these things hit my self-esteem hard. It might sound shallow, but when you are 15 and trying to find a place in this world, what people say about you matters, and when they exclude you, it breaks your heart a little. These feelings became more painful when I decided to brush them off and not share them with anyone. The comments hurt so much back then, and still do to this day because I heard reverberations and variations for years, things like "if Daniela ate less, she would be so beautiful," for years until I became strong (or old) enough to stop caring, although never entirely.
Fast forward, I do not hold grudges for anyone, and these comments are but a blur, distant and unreliable memory. Instead, I blame some of the cruelty in youth on not being aware of how words can turn into weapons. But the above undoubtedly made me seek and crave validation with great intensity.
The dream brought an epiphany: the need to overcome this fear of rejection and my dependence on compliments so that I can be more authentic... So I can stop thinking that I need to be perfect to be valued and loved. It is a mighty tall order that may take a lifetime to achieve, but I know I can do it regardless of how much effort it takes. Because, after all, there is something I thank my younger self: for never losing sight of who I indeed was and what really matters in life.
Comments