In sixth grade, we were given the assignment to draw a self-portrait and then write six words that described ourselves. It was a lesson on adjectives.
I picked “Obnoxious”, “Fat”, “Loquacious”, “Stupid”, “Grotesque”, and “lazy.”
Self portrait, age 13
I was bitterly proud of my vocabulary. (“Loquacious” was my attempt to be nice to myself but I knew it really meant “big mouth”.) I cried and tore up my paper rather than turn it in. My sixth grade English teacher, though my favorite, was a sadist to make us do this assignment.
Of course, I knew self-pity was the ugliest trait of them all.
We had an assignment in a later class… seventh grade? Eighth? Where we would be videotaped speaking lines from a play. I slouched all ugly and gross through my role and slouched off stage again.
Mental Self Portrait, Age 13.
I did NOT want to see the video, but curiosity kept me from closing my eyes. I braced myself for the monster.
Actual 13-year-old self on left
And saw… a normal kid. I was almost indistinguishable from the other kids. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even WALK funny. My clothes weren’t THAT out-of-style.
I’d never seen myself from the outside before.
It was my first step in getting over myself. Obviously, I’ve got a ways to go.
Look at yourself from the outside once in a while: The view is better.
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