Overcoming Insecurity

I am a fairly confident person. I have a lot of imperfections that really bother me, but I manage to live a sane and respectable life in spite of them. For the most part.

I can think of a couple times, however, when insecurity has gotten the best of me.

Once was just after Wes got home from his mission. I was an acceptably active person at the time: I attended an aerobics class on Tuesdays and Thursdays and jogged though my neighborhood on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Wes quickly discovered this little "jogging" routine of mine and suggested we jog together. I really had no reason to feel intimidated by this, but what I thought to myself at his proposal was, "Nice boy who I REALLY like: pleeeeaaaaaaase do not ask this of me. I cannot go jogging with you. I jog at about the pace of a snail with a two ton anvil chained behind it. I'm totally happy with my routine and with the incremental progress that I"m making. If I go jogging with you, or any other human being for that matter, all of that happy contentment and self motivation will crumble in the PRESSURE of your presence."
What I said to Wes was, "Oh, I'll slow you down! You really don't want to come with me!"

What Wes said was, "Slow is ok. It'll be fun. Let's do it."
What I said was, "OK."
And so we did it. And I... managed. Wes let me jog at my own pace and we enjoyed each other's conversation. And then one day it happened. We were at the end of our 30-minute jog. Wes, the very picture of fitness and never-ending energy said, "let's go race up the stairs by the botany pond."
"Yeah right," I said.
"No, I'm serious! Let's do it"
"So am I: serious. Probably not."
"It'll be fun!"
"No thanks."
He kept pressuring.
I kept refusing.
I could tell he was verging on annoyance. I was suffocating under the pressure. Tears were mounting. The kind of tears that cannot be willed away - no matter how hard you try. The emotion took Wes by surprise. We walked back to the steps of our apartment complex and through sobs and sniffles I explained that all of this 'physicality' was a little sensitive for me. I rehearsed for him surprisingly clear memories of a certain chubby little school girl who couldn't run in gym class to save her life. He felt bad. I told him it was ok - there was no way for him to have known. I was, myself, surprised by the emotion the silly experience evoked.

We've laughed about that memory for five years now.

I hope that in five years we'll also laugh at the tears that squeezed from my resistant eyes tonight after I was utterly unable to force myself to participate in a delightfully light-hearted foot-race with a few family members visiting for the week. I was a happy spectator as the children ran, as my husband competed against his older brothers, as even "Grandpa" split the summer air with his quick dash. But when the little ones and the men came suggesting, "time for the moms!" I couldn't help feeling the same tightness in my chest; the same repulsive sickening of my stomach as when Wes wanted me to run those botany-pond stairs with him.

Let it be know that I enjoy challenging physical activity.

Let it be known that I try to be a good sport.

But tonight I couldn't be a good sport. I proceeded to sit planted on the sidelines with Grandma and a 7-months-pregnant sister-in-law to watch the other darling females in the family run a short and totally insignificant race with each other. And do I feel ridiculous for such immobilizing insecurity? YES!

And why do I share these incriminating stories via the world wide web? No idea. Perhaps seeking solace in confession. Perhaps wondering if anyone in the world has ever done anything so silly! Perhaps in hopes that I can somehow vent the inane insecurity out of my being. I do feel quite a bit better for the effort. Maybe we'll race again tomorrow. If so, I resolve to repent of my ridiculousness.

Bring it on!