Outfit Post: On self-awareness and being different

I am child of New York City. I rode the subway alone when I was fourteen. I know the difference between a bialey and a bagel. I can hail a cab in the rain like no one's business. And I'm a master at the fast walk without looking anyone in the eye because I'm very very very important, I have important places to go, can't you see how IMPORTANT I AM?

In the New York City of my adolescence, oddball and eccentric behavior was both welcomed and encouraged. I thought nothing of wearing neon fishnets under my ripped jeans and layering Catholic schoolgirl skirts with vintage lace blouses, leggings and Doc Martins. Conformity was a four-letter word, a disease best left to adults, or those that had the unfortunate condition of living in the (gasp!) suburbs.

And now, at 37, I live in the suburbs. I am nothing like my housewife neighbors, with their bedazzled capris and designer bags and bleached hair and penchant for gardening and sharing recipes and hosting Southern Living kitchenware parties. I stand out. I have bright red hair and an affinity for wearing vintage sequins while fetching my dry cleaning. I am pale, refusing daily trips to the tanning salon. Instead of scrapbooking and organizing neighborhood potlucks, I skulk around thrift stores. And I have many, many visible tattoos. I get looks when I venture into my suburban neighborhood - second glances, curious side-eye, or blatant, outright staring. And the majority of this eye contact isn't exactly friendly. A trip with my kids to the mall yesterday resulted in so much staring that I felt embarrassed, even ashamed, by the time I left.

It takes considerable courage to be different. Of course, being different extends far beyond what you chose to wear, or whether you have tattoos. Being different means embracing the opportunity to chose where your heart leads you. It can also include the freedom to start doing what you love, following the things you are interested in, and discovering the things you've always wanted to find. 

When I got home from the mall, I jumped on the computer to try and figure out others handled being different. I found that the key to embracing your uniqueness, the things that make you different, is self-acceptance. Self-acceptance means being loving and happy with whom you are NOW. It is an agreement with yourself to appreciate, validate, accept and support who you are, even those parts you’d like to eventually change. Self-acceptance is the willingness to embrace all the things about you that make you different, regardless of how you might compare to others.

When you lack self-acceptance, you’re more likely to struggle with low self-esteem, low self-confidence, and problems in relationships. The refusal to love and accept yourself might lead you to believe that you’re not rich enough, beautiful enough, loved enough, lucky enough, or successful enough. It might lead you to doubt who you are, and entice you into conformity.

Being different may set the stage for a lifetime of side-eye. But it's what makes you, you. You should be different. If there weren't people different from you, you would not be an individual.

So what makes you different? What are your quirks? Have you ever faced criticism for being different? Do you enjoy feeling different, or are you more comfortable blending in? Leave a comment, and share the things that make you different here!

Thrifted The Limited silk blouse; Gap bra; thrifted Escada skirt; Lucky Brand wedges; TIKKR watch, Charming Charlie bracelets

Outfit Post: Anorexia, competition, and the quest for blogger win

As a card-carrying perfectionist, I have often viewed life as a competition. There is The Best, and there is everyone else. My lifelong goal has been to be The Best at whatever it was - not out of a healthy sense of competition, but more because I viewed myself as a failure if I wasn't The Best. My constant striving was fueled by a desire to finally feel like I could measure up to everyone else.

As a teenager, my quest towards being The Best was challenged daily by the extremely competitive environment I lived in - that of honors classes and music conservatory. I was a concert flutist, and attended a prestigious music conservatory while enrolled in a performing arts high school. Not only did I need to achieve perfect grades (which I nearly conquered, if not for my dammed music theory classes), but also achieve first chair status in orchestra, small wind ensemble and concert band. I was absolutely ruthless during those years. Actually, I had forgotten how awful I was until curiosity led me to flip through my high school yearbook. Most of the messages from my friends include some mention of how I "pushed them to work harder", "drove them crazy", and "made their life a living hell." Ouch. The process towards becoming The Best usually included alienating myself from my close friends, all of whom were flutists and strove towards the same goal as mine. It made for some tenuous, stressful times. As far as I was concerned, losing friends was just part of being The Best, and I accepted it as a mater of fact. The most important thing - indeed, the only important thing - was to win.

My anorexia only amplified this thinking process. Losing weight, conquering my need for food, sleep, and affection, was the way I found to "win" the competition. Anorexia made me feel special. It was my trump card. Giving up my eating disorder meant giving up this one way I had of feeling special, of being The Best. As long as I ate less, and weighed less, then at least I could be The Best at that. Right? Too bad this contest is so tremendously self-destructive.

Although I've learned in the past few years that this is a very distorted and disordered way of thinking - a way of thinking that preceded the eating disorder - it's still very much there and very much present. Now, reading my high school's alumni magazine is an exercise in self-loathing. The accomplishments of my classmates make me almost feel ill when I look at my life. My therapist calls this "compare and despair." I have similar feelings when checking out the stats of some blogs I follow. I spend entirely too much time and energy trying to figure out what makes some so successful, how they have so many followers and sponsors and lead such gorgeous glamorous lives. Now, I can't even say "Well, at least I'm eating less then they are!" Because I'm in recovery, and almost certainly not.

Now, it seems I am hungry all the time. Like, ALL the time. I'm assuming it's due to the fact that I'm actually paying attention to hunger cues (which I used to do my best to ignore.) Giving in to my hunger would mean, in my head, that I'd be eating more than most women. I defined being The Best for so long as eating the least. Because of this, now, I seem to be The Worst, which is pretty much a living hell for someone who has perfectionism.

I don't always want to feel I need to participate in the contest but don't yet quite know how else to feel okay with myself without these concrete measures. I always have this profound sense of inadequacy, and this was mediated, temporarily, by the eating disorder. It quelled the anxieties of not measuring up, of not being good enough.

I know that I need to stop defining myself in relation to others. And not just any "others," but those who have achieved more and done more and make me feel like utter crap when I think about what my life is and what it has done. I know I need to compare me to, well, ME and to hell with everyone else.

Have you ever struggled with competition? Do you have trouble with perfectionism? How do you avoid the compare and despair trap that so many bloggers struggle with? Do you get caught up in comparing your stats with more successful bloggers?

Forever 21 silk top; thrifted Escada lace skirt; Jessica Simpson pumps; Frye clutch; Forever 21 rhinestone spike necklace; Forever 21 rhinestone bracelets; Target rhinestone drop earrings