On reflection
An entry for LJ Idol, season 8, topic 4: " What does narcissism have to do with me?"
It's strange how you approach me, day after day, in every state and as raw as no one else ever sees you. You'll stand in front of me naked or dressed to the nines or anywhere else in between, and you assume I never judge you.
Actually, I don't have any need to judge; I wasn't cut out that way. I show you your best and your worst, and leave it to you to decide which is which. Sometimes you're right about that too - more often, you're wrong.
You know what else you're wrong about? That assumption that I only see what you see, and that when you walk away, I don't see anything. It might be a good idea to absorb this part: I'm not a television, and you're not four years old. My eyes never really turn away, even when yours do. There is nothing you can hide from me.
If you tell yourself that you're not going grayer, no one will notice that zit, or those jeans still fit you - I'll know differently. But I'll only tell you if you ask - so when you lie to yourself, I'll lie too. In truth, once you think of it: who knows more about you than I do? How hard you cried over him? The thrill of every yes you ever wanted and got? Everything you ever wanted to say to your boss that would get you fired?
How utterly lovely you are in the morning, wrapped in a towel, half-dried hair drying into loose curls that won't stay out of your eyes?
Yes, I confess: every once in a while, I do judge you.
But it's never the way you think. I see the beauty in you that you can't show to everyone else, because you don't know how. I see you thinking that you're vain for trying to be more than what you believe you are - and I wish that you could see yourself the way I see you.
You are perfect when you laugh. You are perfect when you weep. You are awkward when you try too hard, and amazing when you're awkward. You are less than horrible, and so much more good than you'll ever know.
I just wish I could tell you.
Every once in a while, I think maybe you hear me. Maybe amongst the clatter and clang of every insecurity, my voice comes through in a whisper. You take a good long look at yourself, and you think: I am doing the best that I can - and just for today, that's enough.
I'll ask something of you, just this once. But don't think of it as a favor to me; just like everything else you do for me, it's really a favor to yourself.
The next time you hear my voice telling you that your hair looks great, your makeup couldn't be better, you're perfect whether you're skinny or fat or neither, it's OK not to give a damn some days, it's OK to love yourself just. like. this -
- listen. Don't dismiss me, and don't tell yourself you're being narcissistic. The truth is in your heart, and my entire reason for existing is to help you see it.
Can you see it now?
It's OK. Maybe today's not the day. But when you're ready? I'll be here.
It's strange how you approach me, day after day, in every state and as raw as no one else ever sees you. You'll stand in front of me naked or dressed to the nines or anywhere else in between, and you assume I never judge you.
Actually, I don't have any need to judge; I wasn't cut out that way. I show you your best and your worst, and leave it to you to decide which is which. Sometimes you're right about that too - more often, you're wrong.
You know what else you're wrong about? That assumption that I only see what you see, and that when you walk away, I don't see anything. It might be a good idea to absorb this part: I'm not a television, and you're not four years old. My eyes never really turn away, even when yours do. There is nothing you can hide from me.
If you tell yourself that you're not going grayer, no one will notice that zit, or those jeans still fit you - I'll know differently. But I'll only tell you if you ask - so when you lie to yourself, I'll lie too. In truth, once you think of it: who knows more about you than I do? How hard you cried over him? The thrill of every yes you ever wanted and got? Everything you ever wanted to say to your boss that would get you fired?
How utterly lovely you are in the morning, wrapped in a towel, half-dried hair drying into loose curls that won't stay out of your eyes?
Yes, I confess: every once in a while, I do judge you.
But it's never the way you think. I see the beauty in you that you can't show to everyone else, because you don't know how. I see you thinking that you're vain for trying to be more than what you believe you are - and I wish that you could see yourself the way I see you.
You are perfect when you laugh. You are perfect when you weep. You are awkward when you try too hard, and amazing when you're awkward. You are less than horrible, and so much more good than you'll ever know.
I just wish I could tell you.
Every once in a while, I think maybe you hear me. Maybe amongst the clatter and clang of every insecurity, my voice comes through in a whisper. You take a good long look at yourself, and you think: I am doing the best that I can - and just for today, that's enough.
I'll ask something of you, just this once. But don't think of it as a favor to me; just like everything else you do for me, it's really a favor to yourself.
The next time you hear my voice telling you that your hair looks great, your makeup couldn't be better, you're perfect whether you're skinny or fat or neither, it's OK not to give a damn some days, it's OK to love yourself just. like. this -
- listen. Don't dismiss me, and don't tell yourself you're being narcissistic. The truth is in your heart, and my entire reason for existing is to help you see it.
Can you see it now?
It's OK. Maybe today's not the day. But when you're ready? I'll be here.