Chapter 1: An Introvert's Dilemma

As someone who identifies as an introvert, I often find solace in blending into the background, steering clear of direct eye contact and casual conversations. Yet, there are moments when I crave my husband's attention. His reactions, when they resonate with me, are so gratifying that I find myself seeking them out time and again. It’s a feeling that remains just as fulfilling each time it occurs. On days when I wear a specific outfit, I can’t help but think, “This is definitely going to elicit the response I desire.”

For fans of Ted Lasso, the episode titled “Sexy Christmas” stands out as a personal favorite. In this episode, Roy walks in on Keeley dressed in a stunning holiday outfit and exclaims, “Holy Fu**ing Sh*t You Look Incredible.” That’s the kind of enthusiastic feedback I hope to receive from my husband, even when I’m in pajamas with my hair in a messy bun. He’s aware of this expectation, as I’ve made it clear. Occasionally, he rises to the occasion.

Given my belief in treating others as I wish to be treated, I make it a point to compliment both my husband and children. As someone who is always striving for self-improvement, I consume a wealth of podcasts and literature on becoming a better version of myself. A recent podcast discussing body image featured an expert who advised parents of teenagers—often grappling with insecurities about their looks—to hold back on comments regarding their appearance. The very next day, when my 15-year-old daughter came downstairs for school, I found myself struggling to make a remark that didn’t focus on her outfit. My half-hearted question, “What’s on your agenda for school today?” was met with a typical Roy Kent-style grunt.

At first, I brushed it off, recognizing that grunts, sighs, and eye rolls are a fundamental part of teenage communication.

A few days later, during one of our ongoing family discussions about unmet expectations, my daughter pointed out, “You know, I came down in that adorable outfit the other day, and you didn’t even acknowledge it. Dad would have been all over that.” I was taken aback. I acknowledged her observation and explained my reasoning, but she offered no response—not even a grunt, sigh, or eye roll. “So, just to clarify,” I probed, “you really want me to compliment your outfit?” Her affirmative response was enlightening.

Have I mentioned my tendency to fix things that aren’t actually broken, especially when it comes to myself?

For years, I pushed my family into various activities, believing it was essential to create joyful memories, a feeling I lacked in my own upbringing. This often led to a mix of frustration, sadness, and resentment for everyone involved—most often me. On one occasion, my eldest child remarked, “Mom, we’ve had a happy childhood filled with wonderful memories. You don’t need to try so hard.”

As I continue to learn this lesson, life presents me with opportunities for practice.

Here’s a thought: What if we stopped exerting so much effort to improve? What if everything we are doing is already sufficient? What if we could accept ourselves as supportive partners, loving parents, understanding friends, and decent drivers? What if the number on the scale was merely that—a number representing our weight, rather than a goal to be diminished? This idea feels particularly relevant as I prepare to renew my driver’s license in a few days, weighing the same as I did four years ago, after battling to maintain my weight within a five-pound range for an exasperating four years. Can I simply acknowledge that this is my weight?

As we embark on the second year of a global pandemic, we’ve faced isolation from family, friends, and colleagues. We’ve distanced ourselves from certain individuals upon realizing their prejudices, as social media lays bare everyone’s views. Parts of the country are engulfed in flames while others are buried under literal feet of snow. Life is challenging enough without adding self-criticism to the mix, glaring at our reflection each day and thinking, “And YOU!”

Perhaps today, we could allow ourselves to simply be enough. If that feels manageable, maybe we can attempt it again in the future.

Chapter 2: Seeking Affirmation Through Music

In exploring the theme of seeking affirmation, music can serve as a powerful companion.

The song "Don't Look at Me" by PoorStacy encapsulates feelings of vulnerability and the desire for recognition. It reflects a struggle many of us can relate to, where self-image and external validation intertwine.

In a similar vein, Maddy Hicks’ track "Don't Look at Me" also delves into themes of self-perception and the complexities of seeking approval from others.