I used to have loads of healthy self esteem in my early 20's. I was blessed with this partially because I discovered that I felt like an unstoppable force of feminine wile after a few drinks, so that made it easier to *heart* myself. I could talk to anyone, dazzling them with my coy charm - or so I thought. At any rate, boys noticed me and paid me lots of attention. This is when I met my husband - when I was on.
My teens, not so much. I always felt rather awkward and for lack of a better word, jumbly. I was teenage angst personified. I scowled as much as was possible for a well loved and supported 16 year old. I had a terrible case self doubt and hated my soft curves and slightly exotic appearance. I wanted nothing more than to be blonde, blue eyed and petite. Subsequently, I had a small flirty relationship with an eating disorder. She and I got along well, but eventually I had to tell her goodbye. High school for me was a mildly disturbing journey through both physical and social anxieties. I could never get the cute guy or master looking like I didn't care what others thought of me when I cared more than anything in the world.
This past weekend, D and I went to his class reunion. For the life of me, I did not understand why he would want to go, but he was all the things I was not. He actually enjoyed his time in adolescence. His ex girlfriend was there. She's all the things women dread in their husband's exes. Tall and lithe, naturally tan, dark long hair and a dazzling smile. Very flirty, and this is not a snarky thing, but could (and would) flirt with a lamppost. And make it look like a good idea. I noticed him looking at her several times - I couldn't tell if he was staring or just, you know, glancing about the room where she happened to be standing.
So the comparisons began between the two of us began in my dinged up psyche. She's this, I'm that, etc. All those feelings of inadequacy I thought I'd left far behind came back in a flood, but now with the added fun of actually being inadequate due to my piece of shit eggs. That mess was back, now with infertility and marital jealousy. Oh, what fun it was.
So I did what any self respecting infertile goddess would do - I had several glasses of wine, shook my hair down and took my husband for a little fun in the backseat of our car at the after party.
After all, I am good at some things.