I am a lucky girl. Frequently this needs to be pointed out to me, not in the sense of poor children in Africa, people who live in Camden etc, but that I do something I enjoy and am surrounded by people who are fun, clever and think that I’m good.
It’s difficult to think of yourself objectively, mostly because you’re stuck in your head and have no way of clambering out and standing there to dole out praise or slaps where necessary. This isn’t depression, it’s a state of mind, it’s something you’ve got used to, like sleepwalking through getting up every morning.
It’s odd how we need accolades from others in order to feel valid in what we do. We’ve become a society so intent on celebrating ourselves that by rights we should be confident to the point of unbearable. I know several fantastically gifted bloggers who brush off their skills as something akin to cleaning the toilet once a week. Again, I know beautiful people who don’t believe that they are, and then there are those who despite being outwardly confident to the point of arrogance possess a level of self-loathing that most masturbating Catholics would whistle at.
There’s modesty, and then there’s being crippled by low confidence. Modesty can only go so far before it becomes a hobbling set-back. It should make me feel better, or less alone, to know how many people I love and respect have fidgets about aspects of themselves that are, to me, truly awe-inspiring, but it doesn’t. This being of course because I can see what they can’t. And they can see what I can’t. And, try as we might, there’s no way of combining the two.