Content warning: I fully expect that the following will annoy You and quite possibly more than that. You have commanded me not to filter. I have not done so here. I have given You my word and, as always, I will stand by it. I say this because I will not have it thought that I’m topping. I’m not telling You how I feel to change anything. I’m providing information to help You learn me.
I’m insecure. There. I said it. I am VERY slowly gaining the belief that I am sexy. Yes, I get that I’m attractive to some. Sexy is a whole upper level of that. I have times when I dress for you that I feel sexy. The whole trench coat outfit. I actually felt sexy. I did not for one moment feel foolish or stupid or believe that You would laugh at me. Your reaction confirmed for me that You really do find me sexy. I continue to be perplexed by it. You help me have flashes of believing it of myself. You do that for me. No one has EVER been able to overcome all of the “ugly”, “too pale”, “not good enough” programming … except You. In one year You have done more for me than anyone in my 45 (almost 46) years.
There is almost nothing in my life that I am genuinely confident about. I can sing. I’m a decent mother. I am of above average intelligence. That’s pretty much it.
See that? Up there – that thing I just said? That I have confidence that I can sing well? Do you realize that this thing I know I do well still took months for me to do when You ask it of me? Even then, when You ask me to “sing a song” during play, even when I can choose a piece I knew I do passably well, I still sweat through it. Singing for You who has heard, by Your own admission, hundreds of trained singers, is an almost unbearable level of vulnerability. You hear every slightly missed pitch, every flaw in phrasing, every incorrect breath, every small error in diction, and You judge. I know You do. You’re kind. You say nothing about the myriad mistakes in everything I’ve ever sung. I know You hear them. You hear them as clearly as I do.
When I sing in response to a request from You, it feels as if I am nude in Times Square at rush hour asking passers by to comment on my appearance. Yes, it’s that difficult. And, please remember, this is something I know I do well.
Now, I’m going to dance for You. I am going to do something for You that has cost me several roles. I am going to do something for You that I have been cast in spite of, that is tolerated because they can put me in the back row, where my better-than-average voice will be heard while my what-is-she-doing dancing will not be seen. I am going to do this thing that has been judged and found lacking repeatedly. This thing that I know I am not good at. Dancing is something lithe people do well. I’m not one of those. My body is awkward.
I doubt that You will understand what I’m about to say: I will need aftercare. Please, allow me to say that again, I WILL need aftercare. I am begging You, please, please, please, do not ask me to do this thing if We do not have time for You to hold me and tell me innumerable times that I am not suddenly less than in Your eyes.
I have committed to doing this. I will do this. Having said that, I cannot at this time imagine how I will manage it. I do not expect that You will get why this is mortifying/humiliating/horrifying/all but impossible for me. It seems like such a simple thing. I understand how it looks.
I expect this entire post will sound whiny. I’m not being whiny. I feel misunderstood, insecure, vulnerable, weak, raw and distraught.
Today I am grateful for: resilience
Today’s funny moment: “Well, I’m not really allowed to do that part of it.”
Training: 4 hours
Water: 4 liters
Corset: 24.75am, 24pm