For a really long time, I didn't do certain things because I was scared. In my youth, I was harassed, bullied, shamed, and so much more to the point that I created a little corner of the world for myself where I barely even had to leave the house. That might sound strange for someone who has performed hundreds of shows with a band over the years, but it's the truth: when you're on stage, there is a buffer between you and the crowd, the uncalled-for commentary. I've been performing since I was very young when my Mom used to manage stage productions at church, so performing has never bothered me. Public speaking, singing, acting... no big deal. It's smaller situations that always got to me. When you're with a group of people and they're all conscientiously ignoring you, or when people you know have gone out of their way to make sure that you're excluded and shamed publicly... yeah, that's when you start to get gun shy and clam up. There were a lot of opportunities I missed, a lot of things I didn't do, because I was afraid of rejection, of the things that might be said to me.
I stopped letting people in a long time ago. When even people I was supposed to be able to rely on for comfort and support during trying times turned on me like so many vipers, that's when I completely retreated. And after my divorce, when I was hurting the most and people
still did it to me, that's when I stopped performing, too. I had lost all my confidence. It's taken the love and support of an incredible man - my Tommy Lee - and him giving me the space and leeway to find myself and I finally saw some confidence growing again in the desert of my psyche, to use a metaphor. From being bullied as a pre-teen for experimenting with red lipstick ("Her lips arrive 15 minutes before she does!), to being kicked out of church youth groups for bleaching my hair and wearing tight pants, to being left behind on family outings... Being reduced to nothing but your looks and set of boobs (more on that in a minute)... yeah, I got tired of the crap. And, worse, I blamed myself. I desperately wanted to be someone else, especially when my (now EX) husband kept telling me I wasn't good enough... not thin enough, not pretty enough, not talented enough, too lazy to amount to anything. That shit will wear on you.
I even went to a therapist once to see if there was something that could be done about my depression, and the psychiatrist dismissed me after 15 minutes saying that I didn't have anything to be depressed about and if I felt depressed, I should just give up coffee. (Insert exaggerated eyeroll here.)
It's difficult when people don't take you seriously out of hand. They look no deeper than the surface and dismiss you without a second thought. And I got super tired super fast of pretending to be something I am not in order to fit in or to please someone else. Today, I just don't have any tolerance for things that aren't
real. I am not going to be anything other than myself. I gave up looking for a job in the field I got my degrees in because, even though I could basically get the job on paper sending in my resume and over the telephone interviews, the minute I walked in for the "basically just a formality" in-person interview, I was sunk. I could tell by the looks on their faces that I wasn't getting the job, and I hadn't even said anything yet. After two or three times of this, I just gave up and started my own Internet business where people don't get to see me, and, therefore, I wasn't getting judged based solely on my looks. I tried, for a while, to
be what I thought people wanted, but it got tiresome. And, in the end, it wasn't worth it. I am happier now than I have ever been, and, to be honest, I had been sad for so long that it actually feels kind of weird.
So, the point of this story: yesterday evening, I did my very first Periscope concert. I played 6 songs for an anonymous audience, and, boy, was I ever nervous. I haven't played for people in almost 5 years. While I have gained a lot of confidence, this was something that was completely outside my comfort zone. But it went okay, I think. There were a lot of boob comments. I wish that there hadn't been, but I've actually gotten used to it. Yes, they're big boobs. Yes, they're real. No, "they" aren't
me. They're actually kind of a pain in the ass (or back, as the case may be). Finding bras is next-to-impossible or breaks the bank, the bras you do find are either: 1) not cute at all or 2) painful as shit after a couple of wears, and finding shirts to fit them that don't make the rest of you look like a circus tent... well, that's why I love the repro retro clothes I've gotten into recently. For the first time in a long time, I feel pretty.
My breasts have defined me for so long that I am used to the commentary about them. God gave them to me, so, they are what they are. I can't do anything about people who choose to define me by one or two physical attributes (and then seemingly attach whatever kind of personality traits they want to those attributes) and don't bother to get to know me. The people who are really going to end up mattering are those who
do look beyond the surface to see all my facets... because I am a diamond. ;)
