As a kid, I was pretty confident. I knew who I was, and I was satisfied. High school was pretty smooth sailing as well; I didn't really stand out in any way, but I was an excellent student, and that, combined with the casual "F* you" approach of youth, meant that I was pretty much unflappable. College was the happiest time of my life. I was where I was supposed to be, with friends and a boyfriend who I adored. I'd never thought of myself as pretty, but I felt gorgeous and powerful and brilliant. I was a deep thinker, a gifted writer, a strong and independent woman. I knew all these things about myself because people told me so.
Then I became an adult, and all of the praise went away. For the first time in my life, I became keenly aware of disappointing other people. Instead of going to New York to become a famous writer, I married a small-town boy two weeks after graduation. I didn't go on to get my master's from an illustrious university. I didn't get a meaningful, important, high-paying job. I joined a religion most of my peers found limiting. I had my first child at twenty, and five more over the next twelve years. I had settled. I had failed to reach my potential.
Nobody said that directly, of course. I still had friends that loved me, a man I adored, and the support of my family. I still had all of my talents. I hadn't drastically changed. However, the feedback and reassurance of my childhood was gone. There's no grade for changing a diaper, no compliment on the way a bill gets paid on time, no celebration for a job successfully completed. So many of my contributions to the life and family I was building went unnoticed and unremarked because they were par for the course; you don't get told you're special for doing what everyone else does.
Social media perversely reinforced the inadequacy. It's a trope, I know, but no less true. It was too easy to compare myself to others and find that I was falling short--I wasn't educated enough, driven enough, involved enough. Plenty of women balanced family and work spectacularly, and still found time to go to the gym and go to school and do charity work. I started to place irrational importance on some of my friends' opinions--of the world, of politics, of me. I wasn't depressed (though after reading this again, I couldn't blame you for thinking I was) but I felt like I was unimportant, a nonentity that barely blipped across other people's radar.
It was all bullshit.
I have spoken to so many women with many different lives who feel trapped and unsure of themselves, who feel like they are failing in nearly every facet of their lives. It blows me away. I look at these women, and I see compassionate, smart, capable, funny, interesting, tough, unique people who make a difference in the world around them every freaking day. I watch them struggle with guilt and inadequacy and see how I must have looked--how I must still look from time to time--and I can't believe how such amazing people can't see themselves clearly. I can only conclude that it's because we don't tell them how incredible they are, that we assume they already know.
So here is my valentine to them, and to you, if you need to hear it. It's the same valentine I would want someone to have given to me years ago, if I'd been willing to accept it.
You are amazing. You make a difference to those around you every day. There are people who live for your smile. We live in a world that bombards us with schizophrenic messages about who we are supposed to be, and tries to assign us value based on some imaginary metric of success. Ignore all the voices. They aren't real; they are shadows made to prey on your insecurity. Your value is inherent in you. You have experiences unique to you; they are not better or worse, more important or less important than anyone else's experiences. Anyone who says otherwise can take a long walk off a short pier, and I'll tell them so, though I'll probably say it much more colorfully.
You matter.
And that's it. You aren't perfect. Nobody is. Nobody will be for a long time. But even if you are never president or a Nobel laureate or a famous celebrity activist, I will remind you every chance I get until you start to believe it yourself:
You matter.
Happy Valentine's Day.
