Everyone Has Their Own Version of Brave
My awesome Mom 2.0 Summit roommate, Elan, came all the way from Saskatchewan (which one lady we talked to didn’t actually know was a real place) to talk about being our own true authentic selves, about coming out of our shells to proudly claim who we are and what we want. She had seven minutes on stage in front of a ballroom full of people to cover her subject.
Elan is pretty scared about public speaking, but she did it anyway. She knows if you want to grow, you have to face your fears.
I faced one of my fears at Mom 2.0, too. It’s probably not as common a fear as public speaking, but I don’t have a fear of public speaking, thanks to Toastmasters. Insert ad here: TRY TOASTMASTERS, HONESTLY, IT’S GREAT.
What I can’t do – or what I couldn’t do before Thursday – was get a manicure. What the what? That’s a STUPID fear.
I know. But just because it is stupid doesn’t mean I can’t be afraid of it.
I didn’t grow up with any guidance on how to be girly. My mom never told me one single thing about how to dress or be pretty. I never got hints or lessons on hair and makeup and clothes. Into that vacuum of information, the deluge of 1970s feminism fell.
I was left with the idea that taking pains to be beautiful was somewhere between vain, stupid, and traitorous to the cause of Womanhood.
I never did much to rectify that situation on my own, either. I always feel like it is embarrassing to be seen trying to be pretty, with the result that I usually look either sloppy or…oh, let’s just leave it at sloppy.
So to walk in a nail salon and let a tiny, stunning Vietnamese woman have her way with my snaggletooth nails was just EXACTLY like Elan spilling her guts on stage.
Ok, maybe not exactly the same thing, but I was truly afraid. It took all I had to suck it up and walk in that terrifying door, heart bumping in my chest. I paused in the parking lot, checking my phone, hoping for an important message that would require my attention.
Finally, I walked into the Mystery Palace of Womanhood. Just as I feared, the manicurist was horrified by my claws.
Then I got even braver, because she talked me into having MY EYEBROWS WAXED AS WELL.
I KNOW, right? When I got done, I was all I am Woman, Hear My Eyebrows.
So I stand before you, proud to claim what I am – no longer a manicure virgin. I fear no nail salon!
It did take her a while to get rid of all those snaggleteeth, though.