Who Will You See if I Come Out From Hiding?

What if they don’t like me?

What if I’m different?

What if I’m not good enough?

If my daughter came to me and said these things I would tell her, “If they don’t like you the way that you are, then they are the ones missing out.”

Not long ago I brought my daughter and her friends to the mall. It was her friend’s birthday and the girls had earned money by deep cleaning my house. They spent hours working hard so that they would have money to spend. They planned to use it to buy the birthday girl something special.

They ran off on their own in hunt for the perfect gift.

When we reconnected they were all wearing matching sweatshirts they had bought. My daughter had used the money she’d earned and some of her own to pay for part of her friend’s sweatshirt as well as her own. She’s a saver. Her goal is to save double what she needs to buy a new phone so she still has money in her savings account – so when she chooses to spend her money it’s a big deal.

She didn’t actually like the sweatshirt though. It was a cropped top and she hated it. After that day she asked to return it but because she had worn it already that wasn’t possible. Since then she has refused to wear it and the hated top remains buried in one of her dresser drawers like a forgotten toy at the bottom of the toy box.

She never liked that sweatshirt. She didn’t want to buy it in the first place. Why did she?

When I talked to her about this she told me she wanted her friends to like her. They liked it and she was afraid if she didn’t go along with it they wouldn’t like her. She didn’t want them to think she was being difficult (apparently they had a hard time choosing something they all liked).

Ridiculous, right? These are good friends who like her for a lot of reasons. If she didn’t want to buy the sweatshirt would they really stop being her friends? Not these kids.

And if one of them did decide not to be her friend because she didn’t buy a sweatshirt? Well then she certainly wouldn’t be someone my daughter should be friends with anyway.

We tell our children that true friends will like you for who you are. I know when I say this that I honestly believe this is true. Her friends would be her friends if she didn’t buy the sweatshirt.

But what about me? Do I believe people will like me if they get to know who I really am? If they see behind my public curtain, if they discover that the wizard is really just a bookworm who also happens to like paddleboarding, what will they think?

When I first started writing for this blog I stumbled in the beginning. Until I found the word of the day I struggled with what I should write. I claimed it gave me inspiration, which in a way was true. But in reality what it gave me was an excuse to write. Why did I need to justify my writing?

I was afraid.

Who am I to put my thoughts and ideas out into the world?

Why should anyone read what I have to say?

Why would they want to?

What if they don’t like me?

What if I’m different?

What if I’m not good enough?

If my daughter came to me with this problem I would tell her, “If they don’t like you the way that you are, then they are the ones missing out.” Advice is easier to give than it is to take. But I’m learning.

14 thoughts on “Who Will You See if I Come Out From Hiding?”

  1. I think we all have the same fears when starting out, only to discover that we aren’t alone, that others feel exactly the same way. That is comfort in a way, to know that we are in a community of like-minded thinkers. They all say, just keep writing. If people didn’t like you, they wouldn’t keep coming back. 🙂

    Liked by 3 people

Join the Conversation

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s