When I’m alone, I’m a model, an actress, a celebrity, an interviewer and interviewee. I’m the lover of an endless line of famous men. I have millions of dollars at my disposal. I’m thin. I’m in shape. I’m pretty. I say whatever I want without fear. I have witty comebacks. I’m devastating in all ways especially as a dancer and singer. I’m who I want to be, but I’m pretending to be someone I’m not.
It begs the question: What if that’s the real me, and I’m simply not letting her out (sans the lover of an endless line of famous men because, in reality, that sounds exhausting)?
The commonality among my imaginary roles is confidence. Yet none of us need to be any of those things to be confident. I need not be thin or in shape to feel like I own the space around me. I need not be a model (for anyone but myself) to feel like I can be self-assured.
I don’t feel that way at all. The divide still exists. I’m terrified of singing around anyone (I’m not a great singer; I just enjoy it). I do not dance with any measure of seriousness in front of anyone because I’m physically awkward. I’ve had people in the community refer to me as a “celebrity” when they meet me, and I instantly cringe because it feels incongruous. It reminds me of how much lesser I feel compared to who I am when I’m alone.
Wholeness is to be the same inside and out, to be one’s self when alone or with others. It is the part of wholeness I find the hardest to embrace. The opinions of others weigh too heavily on my ego if I put myself out there in new ways.
This is not who I want to be. I am always the clever, talented woman in the mirror. I need to shatter the glass.