Everyone has an inner voice, a voice that whispers things to them. Those who say that they don’t have an inner voice are likely lying.
Mine just happens to be Regina George. She’s bitchy, she’s manipulative, she always knows just what to say to make me insecure and hesitant. She comes with the perfected art of giving me years of self doubt, with her quick sarcasm, and as she cockily reassuring me that I will fail. And that my ass does, indeed, look fat in these jeans.
When I was in high school, Regina George would cripple me with self doubt. I’d shy away from any chance to shine. Talent show? No way. Hide in the back forty and pretend it was lame, even if I did want to sing something (only, I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, so…that was probably wise advice on Regina’s part). Ask a boy out that I was crushing on? Ya, ok. Not. When my English teacher selected my short story to read, Regina whispered snide comments about how all my classmates thought it was terrible and that I was a major nerd. In reality, all of my peers were impressed. Speechless, but impressed. Which is pretty damn good for grade 10.
Sometimes, Regina is voiced by well meaning family and friends, even strangers on the Internet hiding behind anonymous names.
In recent years, I’ve learned to all but block out Regina’s voice. Kind of. Sometimes, it seeps in like water through the cracks. It eats away my self confidence, makes me feel incapable of achieving my goals.
But…I’m getting better at telling Regina George just where to go. The times where I meekly sit back and let Regina stomp on my confidence and drive are fading to infrequency.
It’s my time to shine. I will succeed, I will achieve my dreams. Regina’s voice is slowly but determinedly drowned out by my other inner voice, my positive voice. The one that shouts you can do this whenever Regina tries to sink her negativity in.
You don’t have a hold on me anymore, Regina. Watch out world.
I’ve never really applied to write articles for big websites before. That Regina voice of negativity would smirk every time I’d consider it. Really? You don’t think you stand a chance, do you? She’d remark, bemused.
However, my new found confidence stomps all over Regina’s sarcastic bewilderment. Yes, I think I stand a chance. I am a good writer. I’ve been told this time and time again. I believe it, I believe that I can make it. I believe I have what it takes. I have an interesting perspective on the world, on parenting. I have been told that I have “experience beyond my years”, and I know this is true. I do. I don’t see the world in the typical shades of black and white so many people see it in. I see grey, I see vibrant colours. I’ve never thought inside the box, but I’ve learned to understand those who do. It’s safe in the box.
I’m pushing down the walls that held me back from jumping in and trying. I’m diving in with my heart on my sleeve, as I always wear it. Only good will come from trying, only personal growth and reflection.
In five years from now, I’ll be crossing off all the goals on my check list of dreams. Write for big websites, publish a book, go to Blogher, and start speaking publicly about my experiences.
Regina be damned, I’m going somewhere after all. She’ll be hit by the metaphorical bus of my success.