[self] perceptions

Originally published last August, I was reminded of this post this morning and dug it back up to revisit. With new roles and transitions at work and home, and even the issues I face as I realize I'm no longer my pre-kid 22 year old self, I need to remind myself of these things. A quick read could lead you to think this is just about the physical stuff, but I'm really talking here about more than that -- about how we perceive others' perceptions of us. About who we are and who we've been and who we want to be, inside and out.

:::

I head down to the dark, musty basement in search of a bin. I was looking for two specific pairs of pants that I had stashed in the skinny bin -- the one full of clothes that fit when I wasn't gaining or losing pregnancy weight. I needed to dig out some pants for work, and I hit the jackpot. I had completely forgotten about this skirt, this shirt, until I went in there looking for the pants.

When I peeled back the blue lid from the rubbermaid and dug my hands in, rooting through the jumble of clothes, a familiar scent wafted up. Is this what I smell like? I know we all have our own personal scents that we just can't smell ourselves, and I always wondered what mine smelled like -- wondered if I would like it or be embarrassed that all these years I'd been walking around smelling like that?

When I opened the bin, it was familiar. The smell I smell when opening drawers that have been closed a while, or bins like these, stashed away until my body hit pause on its morphology. And I was Ok with it. I didn't like it, but I didn't hate it. I didn't wish for a sweeter aroma, or one more earthy or woody or floral. It just was what it was, and I was Ok with that.

I used to cringe when I heard my voice recorded. I really sound like that? What an awful voice. How do people listen to me? But when I heard it last on my voice recorder, playing back an interview for a story I was working on, I realized I was fine with it. I didn't love it. It isn't sweet like a singer's high soprano, or sexy like a raspy radio girl. But it was my voice, and I was fine with it.

It reminds me of a chapter in one of Pema Chodron's books, on making friends with ourselves. On how if we were to play back a video of ourselves we would cringe all the way through, seeing and hearing all that we do and say, observing ourselves the way others experience us, seeing all that we're blissfully unaware of in action.

I remember in about fifth grade our class went to Discovery World, an interactive science museum for kids. There were mirrors in one installation. They probably distorted reflections in different ways, I don't remember. But there was one mirror with a sign that said, "See yourself the way others see you."

I didn't want to look.

I don't know what mystic power I thought that mirror had, what unsightly image full of physical flaws and character faults it would shine back at me. But it turns out it just showed us what we looked like to other people. Rather than reflecting a mirror image, when I raised my right hand, so did my reflection.

It was nothing scary. It was just me. But man, I didn't want to look. It's hard to swallow how others perceive us -- how they take us in in ways unaware to us.

I have a favorite pair of jeans. I love how they feel after an hour's worth of post-washing wear. They're snug with stretch, dark blue, and as comfy a pair of jeans can be. I'd wear them every day if I could.

But I'm not really sure how they look. I don't have a full-length mirror in the house, and I find that when I do catch my full reflection out and about, I'm always unpleasantly startled. That's what I look like?

Apparently, I feel better than I look.

It's ridiculous, really. This overly-critical voice in our heads that we reserve only for ourselves. We'd never be so hard on somebody else. So I finally realized, I just need to stop looking -- stop looking at myself through the distorted hall of mirrors where I perceive the way others perceive me, and instead go with how I feel, with what fits, whether it's old and familiar or brand new.

I'm coming to accept myself with more kindness. All of me -- I am who I am, and the so-called negative can't be stripped away from the positive or I wouldn't be me.

There was something comforting about rifling through those bins. The familiar smell and feel of bits of me and who I've been. I paw through, in a search for one thing but discovering more, perfect fits all but forgotten. I dig out a few and I carry them with me. I try them on, slip into a few more layers I had forgotten all about, and find they fit just right.

I'm surprised by how it easy it is, how natural it feels, how comfortable a fit is the familiar when I see it without judgment, and just let it be what it is.