#ShareYourQuirk #OwnYourBeautiful

March 16, 2016

A List of Unrelated Embarrassing Confessions:

 

I eat too many Twix bars. No seriously, you should see my trash can. I bought a bag after Valentine’s Day—“fun-sized” because I thought it would be a nice little treat for when I wanted something sweet every now and then. I figured having to individually unwrap all of them would give me will-power. It didn’t.

 

I don’t know how to be late. I was really upset the other day on my walk to work because I was convinced I was behind schedule. I was five minutes early. I spent the next ten minutes, though, convincing myself that I wasn’t late because for some reason my mind still reads five minutes early as late.

 

When I was younger, the only way my mom could get me to go clothing shopping would be with the promise of stopping at the Disney store afterwards just to look around at the magic. This still works.

 

I don’t ever really brush my hair. Sometimes, I run my fingers through it. I used to keep a ratty old travel brush in my bathroom at home and sometimes I’d brush my hair with that before I showered. I called it the dirty brush because my hair was obviously in need of being cleaned when I used it. But then I’d still tangle my hair in shampoo and then never brush it upon leaving the shower.

 

It’s really problematic how long I go without shaving my legs in the winter.

 

Everything on my nightstand is at an angle: the alarm clock, the on-its-side Chapstick, my notebook, and my current books. I can always tell when my roommate’s cats have crawled back and forth across the table by the slight turned angle of the alarm clock. And then I always angle it back to how it was.

 

I sometimes think I’m not good enough. I often sell myself short and so even if I have what I think is a good idea, I’ll keep it to myself because I’ve already convinced myself that what others are thinking of is better. Why would it matter what I had to say anyway?

 

I save my work about 100 times each minute when I’m writing in Microsoft Word. I even try to do that when I use Google docs. Ctrl+s doesn’t do anything for Google docs.

 

One time, I bought a dozen donuts and ate them all by myself over the course of one weekend. All I had for three meals for three days were donuts.

 

I don’t like waking up on times that end in 0 or 5. Every day in elementary school, I woke up at 7.11 because seven is my first favorite number and eleven is my second favorite number (and in case you were wondering, four is my third favorite…and I don’t have a fourth favorite). I also always liked the way 7+4=11. I’m not in elementary school anymore, but I still wake up at 7.11 every day.

 

I really like the concept of nail polish but after 24-hours I get really annoyed by it and then just want to take it off and never put it on again…until the next time that I get fascinated by it.

 

I’m really cheap. When I first moved to New York, I was living day to day trying to figure out if I would be staying in the city. I didn’t want to buy a bunch of “apartment things” if I was going to be moving somewhere else in a week. For two weeks, I used the same set of plastic silverware that I had stashed from my airplane ride home from Europe. I also rip dryer sheets in half because then I have twice as many.

 

Speaking of, I’m pretty sure I only washed my bed sheets once during my first semester of college. Admittedly, I was on the top bunk and they were ridiculously hard to put on and take off.

 

I never liked the way my legs looked in shorts. I had been running since 7th grade and I was in incredible shape and health, but I still didn’t think I was thin enough or strong enough or toned enough to feel confident in my appearance. I didn’t like the person that was looking back at me. And don’t get me started on swimsuits.

 

Sometimes I don’t press “save” enough though and sometimes my document times out when I have an entire blog written and no record of it anywhere. When this happens (as it just did) I usually cry. This time I just texted my boyfriend an angry all-caps message about the injustice of the situation and went back to writing.

 

I wear a lot of hats, not only because I like them, but also because then they make it really hard for people to tell if you’ve brushed your hair or showered in the last week.

 

I texted my mom last week to make sure my dress pants wouldn’t shrink if I put them in the dryer.

 

I’m a 21-year-old girl and looking at a make-up counter genuinely confuses me. I don’t understand the purpose of half the moisturizers, creams, concealers, brushes, shadows, liners, blushes, etc. I also think if someone set me loose in a Sephora (I just Googled “famous make-up stores”) I would just try to find my reliable Chapstick and leave.

 

My favorite pre-school memory is the one where I would race down to the Sit and Spin toy and then not share it with anyone else.

 

I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was seven but never had the confidence to pursue it. I remember one night in my angst ridden high school years where I shredded pages upon pages of poetry and prose because I was certain that it was terrible and I was certain that nobody would ever want to read it or see it.

 

My favorite snack food is plain rice cakes and my favorite non-chocolate candy is those little satellite things with the sugar beads inside. Only I don’t like the beads, so I rip them open, dump them out, and then only eat the stuff that is basically edible paper with food dye. I don’t know what it is, but I just really like things that taste like nothingness.

 

Except cotton candy. I hate cotton candy. Except I guess cotton candy more looks like nothingness than tastes like nothingness. It tastes like a cavity and feels like a mixture of sugar and cement grains.

 

I write everything down. I mean everything. My planner is my life line and I would definitely be lost without it. Just a few months ago, my friend looked at me in disbelief after realizing I had written “cut fingernails” under Saturday.

 

I use too much Chapstick.

 

When I was younger, my mom would have to remind me to go to the bathroom and I would react like she was sending me to jail because “I was always have too much fun to stop and go to the bathroom.” I still do this without realizing it. I’m just constantly having too much fun to waste time with minor details like basic human needs.

 

Sometimes I wonder what I did to get so lucky. I think about my amazing friends and family and all the incredible things I’ve gotten to experience with them by my side. Then I wonder if I deserve to be so happy. Sometimes the answer isn’t yes.

 

I still get nervous when I put the uncooked pasta in the boiling pot because I just get this terrible imagery of all the water splashing up and scalding my entire body.

 

My dad still does my taxes and I still call him and my mom every time I have to do even borderline adult things, like filling out a W-4 for a new job.

 

I am phobia level afraid of bees. I paid to jump out of a moving plane once for fun, but the idea of a bee being near me is terrifying. I’m in my bee-free apartment writing this and getting nervous thinking about. I don’t understand how I am so afraid of something so tiny and irrelevant. On another note, I know I should care that bees are dying, but I don’t.

 

When I go to the grocery store I have to talk myself through “bananas, milk, bread” on repeat (out loud) not only to remember but also to stop me from buying “muffins, frozen pizza, rice cakes.”

 

I often wonder if other people have those days where they don’t feel very pretty or very smart or very together. I wonder if other people have those moments where they can’t explain the logic and they can’t pinpoint the emotion, but something isn’t right and they just aren’t themselves. But on those kind of days, I assume I’m the only one.

 

I don’t know the lyrics to some of the most popular sing-a-long songs (I thought the opening line to Brown Eyed Girl was ‘Hey there, Amigo’) but I can rattle off the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th verse to nearly any hymn you could throw at me thanks to years of piano lessons.

 

I don’t think I’m capable of taking care of simple things. All throughout high school, I was hired to water peoples’ plants or gardens while they were on vacation. I somehow managed to avoid the bees (mostly) and keep all the plants alive. I bought a succulent plant once and all I had to do was leave it alone and it would have been fine. It was dead in two weeks.

 

I don’t understand how I can love grapes but hate raisins and hate cranberries but tolerate craisins. I also don’t think I know what craisins are but at 21 I feel like I’ve lost the window of time where I could have asked.

 

I still get stressed out when I have to balance my checkbook, not for financial reasons but because for some reason all the papers they send you in the statement are confusing and overwhelming to me.

 

I can never remember how to spell “vacuum.”

Am I good enough for writing?

I mix up “me” and “be” and “by” and “my.”

Am I good enough for friendship?

I think we should rename volcanos “lava mountains.”

Am I good enough for laughter?

I drink my milk straight from the carton.

Am I good enough for business?

I get irrationally annoyed with commercials on the radio.

Am I good enough for love?

I don’t know what squirrels do in the winter.

Am I good enough for happiness?

I don’t think anyone should go more than 12 hours without a hug.

 

Am I good-

Enough.

 

 

You are.

 

 

Don’t deny your awesome. Don’t hide your truth. This is your life. Embarrassment doesn’t lie in what you love, how you feel, or the way you spend your days. The real shame is to deny yourself the honor of being unapologetically you.

 

I’ve shared quirks. I’ve shared insecurities. It’s your turn. Own it.

 

#ShareYourQuirk #OwnYourBeautiful #TheSmileProject

 

 

 

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