We all have things we don’t like about ourselves. Be it physical, mental, emotional, everyone has something they would change about themselves if they knew how, had the money, or just weren’t lazy pieces of crap. I might be projecting.

I’m going to share some of the things I loathe about myself. Why? Because I’m an over-sharer. I hate that I like sharing so much (sexy segue). Is it narcissistic? Egotistical? An unfortunate symptom of being a Millenial? Maybe, maybe, probably. It’s just fun. I love the Internet & I like to participate. I’m also alone probably 70% of the time and I get lonely. The Internet is a great place to seek attention. I try to be open & honest & as transparent as possible, but a shmedium part of me wishes I were cool and mysterious, like Angelina Jolie (come on, she does good things). I’ve always been intrigued by people with very dignified personalities and sharp senses of humor and I view them as borderline higher beings because I am impossibly goofy.

Sometimes I hate that I’m goofy (2 for 2). I’ve realized recently that I use it as a defense mechanism from time to time. I have a strong desire to be liked. I never want to come across bitchy or rude so in certain social situations, I’ll do something goofy because in my mind, there’s no such thing as a goofy bitch. I could be wrong. I’m probably wrong; But that’s what I’ve noticed myself subconsciously doing. “Try to make them laugh. They’ll think you’re weird but at least you’re not a bitch.”  Maybe one day I’ll evolve into that cool, calm, smart, quick-witted woman, but at this stage of my life, anxiety and desperation keep me goofy…or quiet. I get very quiet when around people with stronger personalities because I get intimidated easily & I don’t know how to unapologetically be myself. I hate that. Seriously, I use to write my opinions in my journal then add (no offense). Like, what?

I hate that I don’t have many strong opinions yet (ooh, 3 for 3). Other than my opinion that tomatoes are gross, I have a hard time forming opinions because I feel like I’m still listening and learning. I aim to always listen and learn, but sometimes I read one article and agree with it, then I read an opposing article and agree with it…Most of the time I come up with a “neutral” or “middle of the road” opinion.

With one exception: Better gun legislation. I almost didn’t get an apartment because my background check initially came back “unsatisfactory” due to 2008 traffic tickets. Tickets that had been paid for, yet I still had to file a dispute to get into my apartment. Meanwhile, a man the FBI investigated was easily able to purchase an assault rifle and ammunition.  I’m not talking about taking guns away. It’s your right to have them if you want them and  I’m not delusional, I know people purchase guns illegally & I know gun violence will still happen & people that want to do harm will do it any way they can. Can we at least make it slightly more difficult? 

The only thing I know for sure is that I don’t know much of anything for sure. It’s hard to say you’re right about something when you don’t know everything, and you know that to someone else you’re completely wrong. Perspective is a tricky bitch.

Quick note: Currently on Day 4 of writing and rewriting this…Self indulgence is exhausting.

I hate that I’m slow (meh, weak segue). For as long as I can remember, my mom has called me “pokey.” I don’t mind that because she is an unusually quick individual, so I brush it off as being laid back & having more patience. Hi, Mom!

I’m talking about my pokey brain. This is my soft spot. Whenever someone picks on me, I see it as a sign of affection. Growing up, I was always told I was an easy target. The people picking on me were family or friends, so I knew they didn’t mean any harm and I would usually tease them too. The jokes that did wear on me, though, were ones about being an airhead or immature. That was mostly in high school. In college it transitioned to, “Oh, you’re smarter than I thought you were,” remarks from people I barely knew. You should’ve felt the heat that radiated off me whenever I heard that. Did they really think they were complimenting me? Now I know, people that say things like that are either assholes or just don’t realize what they’re saying (happens to everybody), but that doesn’t make it sting any less. A huge fear of mine is being perceived as stupid, incompetent, or slow and even though it’s been mostly friendly fire, when you realize jokes are usually rooted in some sort of truth…it stings. I recently had a mini-breakdown at my aerial silks class during “perfection week,” because my anxiety of being tested decided to hijack my brain. I couldn’t remember anything. Moves I’ve done dozens of times completely escaped me. I’d even climb up and do the moves, only to come out of it and shake my head, “That’s not right.” So much doubt clouded my mind because I was afraid of being judged as incompetent if I didn’t have a move exactly right. I never hated tests in school. I was an A student, I did really well. I was usually one of the last people to turn in tests because I would check my answers four times and scribble little, “I’m sorry :(,” notes in the margins next to any answer I thought might be wrong. I’m a slow reader, slow writer, and slow at answering questions. Occasionally when people ask me questions, my brain feels like it “cuts out” for a second. Then I scramble to put together an answer and hope it’s coherent. This is mostly when I’m at work or someone asks me about something I’m supposed to be knowledgeable about…or it’s an attractive man asking the question. It’s mortifying when I have to ask them to repeat the question because my brain panicked so much it forgot. I try to justify it by telling myself that I’m creative and I have too many thoughts and it makes my hard drive run a bit slower, but deep down I’m so afraid that I’m just not as smart as I’d like to think. I seek comfort by asking my dad, the man I believe to be the smartest person I know, about his thinking habits and immediately feel better when it sounds like we have some things in common. 

Now, let’s swim to the shallow end, shall we? Here’s a picture to break up all these words.


I’ve had issues with how I look for as long as I can remember. I will Google image search, “perfect female bodies,” or a gorgeous celebrity’s bathing suit picture and their measurements, just so I can measure & compare myself to them to see if I’m “okay.” I have no idea what this accomplishes really and I know it’s dumb, but it’s something I do frequently. Since I’ve already opened Pandora’s box, I’m going to lay it all out, from head to toe, a list of things I’m physically self-conscious about or how I would “fix” myself based off what has been engrained in me that I should be through the media:

-I would like longer, thicker hair so I don’t have bald spots when I pull my hair back.

-I’d fix my weird, potentially thinning hairline & bring it down a little so my forehead’s not so big.

-I’d get a brow lift so my face doesn’t look so “sad”, droopy, & down turned. And maybe look a little older.

-I’d get fillers under my eyes to get rid of the weird wrinkled bags I get when I smile.

-Get rid of my freckles.

-I’d like a smaller, cuter, slightly upturned nose.

-Make my lips slightly fuller and with a defined and even shape. My lips are a weird crooked, non-shape.

-I’d like a more prominent, defined chin & jaw line to get rid of my double chin & balance my face.

-I’d get rid of my sideburns.

-Get rid of my psoriasis.

-Make my arms slimmer, less hairy, and less red and my shoulders less broad. Oh, and make them the same size.

-I’d like perkier, fuller, prettier boobs.

-I’d get rid of my love handles. I feel like they make me look like a potato sack.

-I’d make my waist 4-5 inches smaller and my hips an inch wider.

-Make my thunder thighs smaller so they don’t chafe so freakin’ much.

-Make my flat, droopy butt slightly bigger and perkier.

-Get rid of my cellulite.

-Get rid of basically all dark body hair.

-Trade my short, thick, stumpy legs for longer, leaner legs.

-Feet are feet. I won’t even bother.

I also hate that I think so much about myself that I can write three pages of things I don’t like about myself; But like I said, I’m alone a lot.

Maybe some of those things sound harsh or maybe they don’t because you have similar thoughts about yourself. I’m aware that a lot of it is ridiculous and I’m not saying I hate my body all the time. I have days where I feel great about the way I look. If a friend listed  20 things they would fix about their physical appearance, I’d shake my head and call them insane. We don’t see others in the harsh light we see ourselves, and even if you know this to be true, it doesn’t automatically get rid of these thoughts and feelings that you should be “better.”

What it all comes down to, the things I hate stem from the fear of not being good enough, by others’ standard or my own. I’m afraid of not reaching the potential I believed I had when I was younger and less afraid. I’m afraid of not exceeding my parents’ expectations. Yes, I want to exceed them. I want them to be proud of me. I’m afraid of not finding someone that will want to love and accept me, flaws & all, for the rest of my time here.  I’m not writing this for sympathy and I’m not fishing for compliments (but if you’re doling them out today, I’ll totally take one – no shame). I’m writing this to get it out of my system, number one. Free therapy is dope. (Don’t be surprised if you see a follow up YouTube video.) Number two, I’m sure somebody has similar issues and can relate and hopefully this will comfort you in some way. You’re not alone.

Also, I don’t want you to think I hate myself. I don’t. I love myself. I’m a fairly confident individual 69% of the time. I’m also a pervert. The things I hate about myself, I also love. Maybe my brain is slow and has some anxiety issues, but I love what it creates. I’m rarely bored because I can keep myself entertained with my thoughts. I love that I can laugh at my goofy ass. I think that’s important. I love that I look like my family and someone at a random Starbucks in Charleston can look at me & say, “You’re an Anderson, aren’t you?” I love what my body is capable of & that I’m healthy & I’m so, so grateful for that; But love doesn’t magically erase your internal struggles, it just arms you fight them.

If you made it here, God bless you and thanks for reading.

Last note: It’s day four of writing and rewriting and getting all these thoughts out and I’m tired so, I’m just going to post it now before I spend 5 more days on it. Forgive me for any confusing sentences or grammar errors or sounding like a self-centered asshat. I’m a work in progress.