Recently I turned to a friend who was riding in my car and asked her, “What do you like about yourself?” We rode in silence for several minutes. Finally, she turned to me and said, apologetically , “I can’t think of anything.”
I was stunned. My friend is intelligent, charming, and compassionate —yet she couldn’t see any of that.
I know she’s not alone. Low self-esteem has become the number-one issue plaguing women. Despite God’s assurance that he’s absolutely crazy about us, most of us can’t believe he means us. It’s like the cynical editor who tells the cub reporter, “If your mother says she loves you, check it out.”
I was a reporter for 12 years. One of the first things I learned in researching a story was “garbage in, garbage out.” If your raw data is flawed, you end up with a faulty conclusion. The same is true with how we see ourselves. If we lack self-confidence, maybe we’re working with flawed data.
The reality is, in hundreds of subtle ways, our culture, family, friends —even our thought life — conspire to undermine our confidence. We grow up in families void of affirmation, encouragement, and respect — the building blocks to self-confidence. Then we find ourselves smack dab in the middle of a world that lionizes Size Two Hollywood starlets and Barbie-doll figures. Our paycheck, our title, or some other artificial yardstick gives us temporary entree into the world of The Accepted. But in our hearts, we know it isn’t real. How do we find our way to the truth?
I’m technophobia. My brother got all the genes required to understand operating manuals, to repair things, or to make sense of computers. When I first had to learn how to use a computer for my job, I was convinced it was the end of life as I knew it.
I remember with painful clarity a beginner’s computer class where the instructor told us to “press any key”. I searched in vain for the “any” key. By the end of the class, I was certain I wasn’t smart enough to drive myself home, much less dress for work the next day. This was despite the fact that I managed a home, a family, a job, and a professional staff.
Why was it so humiliating? Because I compared myself to the 10-year-old girl next door who effortlessly surfed the Net to research her term papers while I struggled just to log on. Instead of simply concluding that technical prowess is not one of my strengths, I concluded I must be stupid. It was a lie.
People respect us as much as we respect ourselves. That’s why the absence of self-confidence can telegraph to others not to believe in us.
For years I struggled to receive a compliment graciously. If someone complimented my hair, I’d discount it. I’d say my hairstyle made my face look fat or that my hair was a mousy color. What I really meant was, there must be some mistake. I’m not worth your regard. I don’t like myself and can’t really believe you do, either. The trouble is, if we persist in putting ourselves down, eventually people start to believe we’re right.
Sometimes the problem isn’t faulty data. We have an accurate picture of ourselves or a situation, but we capitulate the first time someone challenges us.
Several years ago, I discovered a grape-sized lump on my left breast. My doctor scheduled outpatient surgery right away. A month later, when I resumed periodic self-examination, I felt the same lump in the same hard-to-reach place. I was certain of it! When I called the doctor to suggest he might have missed the lump in question, he insisted I was wrong. It could not possibly be a lump, he said, because he had removed it. After all, he was the doctor.
I got off the phone, doubting what I’d felt with my own hand. But fear of lethal consequences gave me the courage to insist he re-examine me, at which point he reluctantly acknowledged that, yes, it did seem to be the original lump. He removed it in a second surgery.
In my case, I had to confess that I was stupid because I didn’t understand technical things. Yet, even after acknowledging that I’m actually a pretty intelligent person, I still had to grieve the fact that no amount of classes or training would ever completely solve my technical ineptitude!
Another lie I believed about myself was that I’d been selfish for having only one child. The truth is, I nearly died giving birth to my daughter, and my husband didn’t want to adopt. Still, I spent years feeling like an inferior mother —like I should have trusted God to protect me in subsequent childbirth.
I now believe that —in my case — one child was God’s will for me. I’ve rejected the condemnation. Nevertheless, I had to grieve that I’d never have the houseful of children I’d always wanted.
