Fear of judgement

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This is such an important message. I need to keep reminding myself, over and over and over….especially as I embark on this blogging thing.

So, this morning, as I was rushing to get ready for work, I decided to take a quick photo of my outfit and post it on Insta as #OOTD.

I had 5 minutes before I had to leave the house, if I wanted to catch the 9.05am train, so I grabbed my phone, did the self-timer, remote live view shooting thing (thank you, Canon Camera Connect) and took a couple of hurried photos.

On my way to work, I reviewed my efforts and decided to post one of the photos on my account.

This one:

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Then I deleted it.

Then I added it to my IG story and after about 4 hours I deleted it.

It bugged me for the rest of the day. Why did I do that? Why was I so uncomfortable about posting it?

What on earth was I doing on social media if I couldn’t even post a normal picture?

I’m not entirely sure, but I suspect it was a confidence thing.

More specifically, it was the fear of judgement by others.

How many of us have grown up and gone through life conditioned to think about and consider the opinion of others?

I am definitely one of these people.

It’s such a limiting belief, isn’t it?

How many of our life choices are made thinking/worrying what other might think of us?

But who is this powerful group of “others” that has such power over our decisions?

Colleagues, peers, friends, family? Your ex? Frenemies? Acquaintances?

 

You know, prior to launching this blog I obsessed and agonised over my intentions.

What if people think I’m a poser or attention-seeker or insecure or a narcissist?

How can I convey my intentions and philosophy?

What should I post that others will find non-threatening?

…and on and on it went. It was exhausting.

So much angst about the opinion of a nondescript group of people.

It took a while, a long while…and lots of reading about personal development to finally be able to say:

Well, who cares? Or….more to the point: why should I care?

Those who judge me, those who talk about me in an unkind way, don’t matter.

In the words of Rachel Hollis:

“Someone else’s opinion of you is none of your business”

I could have easily talked myself out of starting a blog altogether, purely based on how others might perceive my intentions.

How many of us have boxed ourselves into a small inoffensive, non-threatening package,  so as not to be judged by others, but in the process we’ve limited our potential and stifled  our ambitions and dreams.

If you’re struggling with similar fears, remember this:

Those who judge, don’t matter

Remember it and repeat it to yourself, over and over.

And, with that, here are the other two photos I took this morning, that didn’t make the cut onto Instagram. I hope you like them!

Love

Em xx

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About last night…

Last night was important for me. It was a reminder of recent pain and hurt, but more importantly a celebration of how far I’ve come in just two short months.

Exactly two months ago yesterday my then boyfriend walked out of the apartment that we had shared for the last nine months. He got in his car and drove across a couple of states, to start a new life in another city.

It sounds awful and it was…painful, hurtful, disappointing and so many other things.

…but it was also a relief. It was the end of a very protracted breakup. It was the final breath of a relationship that began to fade four months prior.

In the weeks that followed, I struggled to stay focused, to keep it all together. The urge to cry was almost constant and tears would spill out, often without warning, at the most inconvenient moments: at work, in the car, on the train.

By the time he moved out, I didn’t think I had any tears left. Turns out, I still had plenty. An inexhaustible supply, apparently!

Around six weeks after he moved out, though, I noticed that I was starting to feel more and more happy. That I no longer had the urge to cry. That I would think about him and our life together less and less. That I no longer missed the good times. That I didn’t miss him…at all.

Six weeks may sound like a short period of time…but, there’s no ‘average recovery period’ for heartbreak.

…and I had invested a lot of time into self-development. In the weeks after our breakup, I read and researched and watched videos about getting over a breakup.

I invested in myself heavily and it paid off.

Last night I went to the Italian Film Festival by myself. Doesn’t sound like a big deal. Plenty of people go to the movies by themselves. Including myself. In fact, I enjoy going to the movies by myself.

But last night meant something.

Last year and the year before we went to the Italian Film Festival together.

Last night, going by myself meant something. It meant so much.

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