I am disorganized and messy. I ruin most of the food I attempt to make. The television is my most trusted babysitter. I am a hairy monster. Liquids frequently spill out around my mouth when I try to drink them. My wingspan is longer than my height. I feel completely content with sitting on my butt and surfing the web during my child's naps. I eat more than my husband. I have never completed anything to the best of my ability...
These are a just a few of the embarrassing truths I often admit to the people around me. I know divulging this personal information may damage my reputation a bit, but I can't help myself. My girlfriend calls me a chronic "oversharer."
I have thought about why I do this and have come up with a few answers. My first, and easiest to explain, is that I tell people about all my frailties early so they don't find out about them for themselves later on. I know, weird. I guess it's my way of controlling the situation. Like if I invite people over for dinner and I add a little, "Well, I'm not the best cook," in the pre-dinner conversation somewhere, then my guests' expectations will be low and they won't feel terribly awful later on when they spit the food out in their napkins as I turn my back. If I warn a camping partner that I tend to unconsciously blow my bad breath in the faces of those sleeping around me, then they are pleasantly surprised in the morning if I didn't wake them up with my stink-blow (that's what Ryan calls it) during the night.
My second reason for constantly spilling my guts is that, for me, there is something so therapeutic about letting people know me inside and out. It's almost like an emotional release. I wasn't always so honest and (to be honest) I have spent most of my life trying to make myself appear perfect. Don't get me wrong, I still frantically clean before people come over to my apartment; I just don't expect those guests to believe that my house is always like that. I still read Martha Stewart in hopes that I will rise up in domestic perfection one day; I just want you all to know that no craft I have ever completed has turned out like I thought it would.
I probably overdo it on the full disclosure thing, but you all know me better now because of it.
I finally realized that I can admit that I cry about everything or that I only make my bed 50 percent of the time, and people will still like me despite these things. And I like myself now, too.