Feeling: (not so) CONFIDENT


Feeling: (not so) CONFIDENT

I have to admit; yesterday morning I woke up a bit of a sad sack. Actually, the last few mornings if we’re going to be all out honest about it. Why? As per, Uncle Doubt Myself had peered up and decided to pay one of his regular visits. 

“Hello!” He said. “I’m back! Thought you’d gotten away withou this week’s visit did you? No such luck! Here I am, let’s get started. So…..” 

I lay in bed for an hour or so just worrying for awhile, before gathering my wits and bounding (well, moping) down the hallway to see Deb and Henio. 

(Seriously, what is it about living at home again that turns you back into a young child? Or hormonal teenager? Either in angst with your mother or desperately seeking her comfort?) (Actually, from what I’ve heard, this is something that continues regardless of age or living status). 

My poor parents. I mean, I’m 24 but so often I take on the emotions and behavioural patterns of a 14-year-old. This day in subject’s line of worry? That I won’t be good at being a Contiki guide. 

This happens everytime I go to start a new job/activity/point of study. When in Brisbane and taking on the role of manager I’d call Henio at least once a day stressing I wouldn’t hit my KPIs for the week (I absolutely blitzed them every Monday). Whilst at Uni, I’d wake up each morning in a fluster that I wouldn’t have enough time to finish my essay due in a fortnight. When I started work at the rad clothes shop Rumor, I worried I wouldn’t sell any clothes or that I’d balls up cashing up each evening. When working for my brother that one day last week, I stressed I wouldn’t vacuum well enough (ridiculous notion; I am the most thorough vacuum cleaner you’d ever come across. Though the home front wouldn’t know it; I am ashamed to say I have never vacuumed our own home, just other people’s). 

So as Deb and Henio attempted to eat their breakfast (jammy ciabatta for Father and “very thin” Vogels toasted in a pair with Vegemite sandwiched between for Mother) I lay on their waffle duvet all woe and worry. 

“What if I don’t finish the assignment on time?” (Mate I tell you, this preparatory project is a killer). 
“What if I do a terrible job on the assignment?”

“What if I don’t save enough money to go over?” 

“What if I can’t learn it all?” 

And the biggest worry of all:

“What if I’m shit?”

It’s times like these that I really envy the brother Michael. I guess it could go either in his fault or favour, but old Mikey really rates himself. Like, whole heartedly. At times I may even go insofar to chuck an arrogant in there, but for the most part it’s just an ego teeming with immense self confidence.

I wonder at times if he sucked all the self confidence out of the womb when he was in there, so by the time I went to turn on the tap for self assurance and fortitude he’d run it dry. 

Don’t get me wrong; in social situations I have confidence in spades. Aside from meeting boyfriends’ families where the nerves get the better of me, I am very much a people person and enjoy introductions and consequential yarns. But when it comes to my abilities in certain roles, self doubt abounds.

It sounds so horrendously corny, but every night when I lay down to slumber I have a little list of points which I recite to myself. Number 5 is: I am completely confident in my abilities and capabilities. Let’s hope the chanting and affirmation repetition works wonders and I get there! 

For now however, I’m just jamming Demi Lovato whenever an overwhelming wave threatens to take over. 

Because I can. 

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