As a kid, I liked myself. Surprising, right? The fact that a little kid may actually have confidence in themselves; maybe it’s being naive or the bliss of being oblivious to judgment. I went into elementary school knowing that I was the funniest, smartest, and most talented kid in the whole room. Sure, it might have been a room of seven people, but I was a force to be reckoned with.
At the time, I didn’t question it because, of course, people liked me. I was this little walking ray of sunshine that was full of positivity. My friends didn’t care that my jokes were bad or that I had an irrational fear of the dark; they thought I was fun. It was that simple.
Then life happened, and I grew up. Somewhere along the way, I lost that innocent, effortless self-assurance. Weirdly enough, people still seem to like me now, maybe even more than as a little kid. The thing is, I don’t really get it. But every time anyone tells me that they like being around me, or they’re laughing at one of my awful jokes, this little judgemental voice in my head always says, “You sure about that? They’re just laughing at you for pity.”
I’m not sure exactly when, but it occurred to me that making friends had become quite a big challenge. Trying to find someone who likes you for you, and not for what they can gain from pretending to be friends with you is hard. I guess the more mature I am, the more “polished” and “put-together” I should be.
These difficulties probably started with my second big move. At 11 years old, I was torn from my home in Florida, dropped into a different state, and told to “make new friends.” Like I could just walk up to someone and say “Hi, I’m new here, I’m also super insecure about my existence, want to be friends?” Of course, my real attempt at making friends consisted of awkward silence, some uncomfortably long stares, and a lot of random questions about the weather.
It got worse in high school, where I became a big, tangled mess of hormones, social anxiety, and just an immense amount of self-doubt. I just spent most days attempting to fit into the mold of something I wasn’t while harboring a universal teenage fear: being left out of the social hierarchy.
It is shocking, really. Honestly, if they knew how much I actually think I annoy them with every word that leaves my mouth, and how I plan the exact tone of my message when texting back, why would they still like me? But somehow, despite the relentless self-critique, people still show up, invite me to their houses, and message me for advice I’m probably not qualified to give.
I guess that’s life: you grow up, move places, change houses, and make new friends, and with all that comes the price of losing yourself a little bit. You get all tangled up in the idea of who you should be and forget who you were before the world started weighing you down.
Even if I don’t think I am all that great, perhaps I am just what everybody else needs. So the next time somebody says they like me, I’ll just nod, smile awkwardly, and think “Well, if only you knew.”
But hey, at least I’m good at faking it.
Annaliese • Feb 9, 2025 at 3:58 pm
Aww Katty you are genuinely so funny, sweet and such a talented writer :))