Tag Archives: about-me

My dumbest phobia

Telephone phobia (telephonophobia, telephobia) is reluctance or fear of making or taking phone calls, literally, “fear of telephone”. (From Wikipedia)

Yup. That’s me. You’d be surprised how hard I have to psych myself up to make a phone call. I am not as bad about taking phone calls, but there’s that issue, too. I have to REALLY know the person on the other end of the line to be okay with talking on the phone in general.

I did a Google search for “fear of making a phone call” figuring I wouldn’t find anything. Much to my surprise, there are a lot of web-sites out there about it! Even some self-help sites to help people get over it. Suddenly, I don’t feel so weird to be like this.

The invention of the Internet and text messaging was made for someone like me. In fact I wonder if the inventors of the Internet were fellow telephonophobics. And text messaging is like a blessing. I’m never without my cell phone specifically because text messaging rocks so hard. I wish I could text for everything. I imagine some things would go like this:

Me to doctors office: “Hey, I need an appointment. What do you have?”
Doc: “How is Friday at 11. Be here by 10:45.”
Me: “Cool. I’m there. Thanks!”

Or maybe:

Me to restaurant: “What are your hours?”
Restaurant: “11am to 2 pm”
Me: “I need a reservation for 4 at 6 pm. Name, Musicians Widow.”
Restaurant: “Gotcha! See you then!”

Yeah… you can give your cell number to vendors and let them text you specials, etc. That’s not the kind of thing I am talking about (and its also something I steadfastly refuse to do). No, I mean the things that are two minute conversations and not a big deal…

…BUT ARE A BIG DEAL TO ME.

The last time I had a doctor’s appointment, it took me ten minutes to talk myself into dialing the number. That is not a lie or exaggeration! If I make a call and my husband or my parents are around, I’ll quiz them for a long time after I hang up as to, “Did I do okay?”

Like I said, I don’t let my “phobia” hold me back (much), but its definitely something I want to work on and totally rid myself of having. Or, if I don’t rid myself of it, I was to at least take my psych-up-time down to 30 seconds versus 10 minutes.

Any words of wisdom out there? Anyone have any advise? Or… better yet… does anyone else deal with this, too? Talk to me! (Just don’t call me… ha!)

Imperfections perceived

This month’s “Own Your Beauty: Change the conversation” topic is imperfections. These are my thoughts on that exact topic.

Any woman reading this right now, please say this with me: “I am a beautiful woman just the way I am.”

Say it a few times. Go find a mirror and say it to yourself. Say it as many times as you have to until you say it with conviction and you feel it in your soul.

Because you are. I am, too. We all are.

When you look in the mirror and say that, don’t look at your imperfections as anything to be ashamed of having. Look at them as life telling your story for you. Look at them as adding to your beauty, because they definitely make you… YOU.

DSCN0589Take me, for example:

★ I love my eyes.

I’m blind as a bat, but contact lenses have helped with that. I started wearing glasses in 2nd grade. Yup. 2nd grade. And you can probably imagine, my eyesight has gone downhill from there. Contact lenses became important to me for three reasons: they let the world see my green eyes, they let me protect those eyes behind sunglasses finally, and they actually halted the decline in my eyesight. So not only do I wear them for “look,” I wear them for a solid medical purpose.

All that being said, I love my eyes. I went through a phase when I wished they were blue. I later discovered that when I wear certain clothes, they pick up a blue tinge. Today, I adore their green color. I get a total kick out of making them pop with eyeliner and a little touch of shimmer right in the corner.

They give me away. They make me uniquely me. I consider them my “best feature.”

★ I have a scar between my eyes.

Right smack dab in the middle of my favorite feature, I carry a small scar. One I earned from having chicken pox as a kid. It’s not as noticeable today as it was in school. Then again, maybe I just have ceased to see it as an imperfection. It’s just a part of who I am. It’s just a part of what makes me unique. When I DO notice it, it makes me giggle, as I remember how I passed my chicken pox to my big brother — who got it a LOT worse than I had! I’ve not once used Photoshop to “fix” my scar. Ask me about it. I’ll be happy to tell its story.

★ My blond hair is from a bottle, but I love my natural color just the same.

I decided to “go blond” at 18. Now, I’ve just had it this color so long that it would feel weird to fully go back to my natural color. I’ve slowly tried to tone the blond back darker, but ultimately I end up going lighter the next time I color it.

That being said, I still love what is my natural color. It always amazed me the different colors it held. Strands of dark brown, almost black, mingled with blonds and reds. In hindsight, a little part of me wishes I’d have not made the change. However, the blond has become so much a part of who I am (my husband has never seen my hair anything but blond!) that I can’t see myself going back. Maybe some day, but not yet. I think I’ll keep it just like it is for awhile longer.

★ I’m just shy of 6′ tall.

In high school, I towered over everyone. I was NOT comfortable in my height. I slouched a lot to try to compensate. That’s a habit I have yet to fully break. However, in college, I found myself among other tall people… and suddenly it was okay.

Heck today, I even wear high heels with glee. Who says “short” women are the only ones allowed the fun of heels. Bring ’em on! I love being tall! I. Love. My. Height.

Wk12: Stride & Ride★ I have imperfect teeth, but an amazing smile.

My biggest “insecurity” has to be my teeth. That being said, I LOVE TO SMILE. That fact alone is echoed for me any time someone tells me that they like my smile. That it makes them happy, too. It tells me loud and clear that perfect teeth or imperfect teeth… they are not what make a smile. A smile comes from within. It spreads across your lips. It lights up your eyes. It often spills over into a laugh.

Would I like to some day get braces? I would. Along with other dental work that desperately needs to be done. But I don’t need that to make me feel pretty. That comes from within. That comes from a confidence that others see and compliment. That comes from a deep optimism that nothing can touch.

★ My forehead is too high; my nose isn’t a button.

I like ponytails, but I am not a fan of how big my forehead is. My husband makes a joke sometimes (not about me… he knows better, LOL) “It’s not a forehead, its a fivehead.” Occasionally, that’s how I feel when I wear a ponytail (and I’ve opted to grow out my bangs). I combat that with creative parts or baseball caps. I look good in a baseball cap. But, hey, it is what it is, and sometimes keeping my neck cool way outweighs any forehead insecurities.

As for my nose… you hear the description, “button nose.” Well, that’s not me. I don’t have a button nose. But I don’t think its too big either. It’s probably the feature that most runs “in the family” and I wear its shape and size proudly. It makes me… me! And it fits.

★ I have a muffin top.

Would you believe that in high school and college, health insurance didn’t want to cover me because I was too thin? I didn’t have an eating disorder. I was just too busy and had too fast of a metabolism to gain any weight. I liked it… but I like having a little meat on my bones more.

I still want to lose a few pounds and get rid of the little muffin top I’ve come to have with age, lack of exercise and my continued love of food. But, I wouldn’t go back to being 110 lbs for anything at this point. That was too thin. I like me, and if I stay this weight for awhile… I’m okay with that.

Oh, I have my moments of insecurity. I have my nights when I go out, and I turn into a wallflower instead of working the room. I have my days when I don’t get out of PJs all day, wear my hair in a bun, and make-up is off the radar. When I look in the mirror, and I wonder how on earth my husband can still look at me like I’m beautiful.

But then I remember… my imperfections all add up to one perfectly imperfect equation. ME.

★

Do you own your beauty? Are you okay with your imperfections?  Come join us all at BlogHer and be a part of the conversation.