Selfies and Self Esteem

It feels like just as a bunch of things start working out in my life, one thing has to start falling apart to make up for it. Gotta have something to challenge me in life, I guess!

Lately, I’ve been in a complete funk when it comes to my self-image. On a logical level, I know I’m a perfectly competent, intelligent human being who does her best and is not so horrendously ugly as to repulse people. But on an emotional level, where logic has little to no bearing, I… do not know any of the things that Logical Me knows. Emotional Me has been feeling terribly inadequate lately, and it’s hard to know whether to coddle her and give her the crutches she wants until she’s healthy again or to tell her to suck it up and then deal with the lovely variety of ways that she lashes out at me.

To be honest, I don’t particularly want to do either. My throat has been sore for weeks now (a doctor’s visit is forthcoming, since I know it’s not strep, but at this point I’m guessing. Is it tonsilitis? Tonsil stones? Mono? Some random, annoying viral infection?) with varying degrees of pain, limiting both my ability and desire to do most things. It’s cold outside and gets dark early. Work has gotten busier and I have needed to bring it home more often. So a lot of the things Emotional Me requires for coddling are just… not in the cards right now. I dearly wish they were, but there’s just no room at the moment. And telling Emotional Me to suck it up only results in a deteriorated mental state that I absolutely can’t afford right now. So what’s a girl to do?

Well, this girl decided to take selfies. At least one every day.

A few years ago, I used to take lots of selfies. I would take ones that were just for me, to celebrate good hair days. (I am lucky in that I have many good hair days.) I would take ones to show my friends and family my makeup before I went to an interview. I would take selfies before dates to show my mom what outfit I’d chosen. I’d take selfies where I looked absolutely gorgeous (yay, awesome natural lighting in my apartment!) or absolutely hideous and send them to my boyfriend to brighten his day. I wasn’t taking them every day, but I was taking them when I felt good about myself. Which, happily, was often.

But at some point, I just kind of… stopped. I now go months without taking selfies. Which is not all that astonishing considering the fact that I don’t take many pictures to begin with and never have. But it’s quite strange to look at a history of my photos and see that at some point, I apparently got really uncomfortable taking photos of myself. This is extra hard to face now because I had to work really hard on my insecurities to get to the point where I didn’t balk at every photo of myself and ask for it to be deleted. This is not to say that I don’t still feel like I take bad photos. I am deeply unphotogenic, as numerous pictures of me at work functions and family events will attest to. But at a certain point, I decided it didn’t matter. Who cared if the photo didn’t look good? I wanted a record that I was there. I wanted my family and friends to have pictures of me if they wanted them. I wanted to feel comfortable taking a picture of my face, dammit.

And I got there!

And then fell off the wagon again into the pit of self-loathing that always seems to be waiting for me, even though I’m always so sure that I’ve left it miles behind me.

So I’m trying to get back on the wagon again. I’m doing it by promising to take a picture of myself every day. I even did it today, even though I spent my day working in bed because a raging sore throat seems to be my constant companion now. They’re not good photos. But they help me see myself again, and help me realize that it doesn’t matter whether I look good in them or not. They’re a gift to my future self, when at some inevitable point I wonder how I was doing when I was 22. What did I look like? What was I wearing? How was I feeling? Now, I’ll have photographic proof. Emotional Me is dissatisfied with this solution, as it does not assuage any of her fears that I am actually some kind of horrid troll being. Logical Me is rolling her eyes because it seems ridiculous. But I’m forcing myself to get comfy with looking at me again. Because that’s important. It matters.

It’s silly and self-indulgent, but if I’m being entirely honest, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being a bit self-indulgent sometimes. And if taking a selfie every day gets me even a little bit back toward equilibrium, it’s worth it.

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