Growing up, I felt this deep, almost instinctual need to be liked. And when people didn’t like me? Oh, it would haunt me. I’d find myself changing little parts of who I was, trying to become what I thought would make someone accept me. But because it was never truly me, it never worked.
Honestly? I was never part of the “popular” crowd. I had my circle of friends, sure, but that elusive inner group I longed to fit in with? I never made it. And some of them? They weren’t always kind. At times, they bullied me. I spent an exhausting amount of energy trying to figure out why.
Was it my family not being wealthy enough? Was it my clothes—or lack of style? My makeup, which, let’s be real, looked like a five-year-old applied it (because it totally did)? My skin? My lack of athletic ability, which seemed to determine your social status back then?
Here’s the truth I’ve finally learned: it wasn’t about any of that. They were simply not my people. They were never meant to be my tribe, and I was never meant for them.
Even now, I try hard to connect with everyone I meet, to build friendships wherever I can. But let’s be real: I don’t mesh with everyone. And, yes, I still feel that pang of insecurity when the confident, beautiful, accomplished women in the room aren’t knocking down my door to hang out.
Listen, sis.
I can be awkward. I have a permanent, accidental case of resting-bitch face. I stumble over my words sometimes. I don’t wear designer clothes. Most days, I don’t have the patience to style my hair. My house isn’t fancy, and lawd knows I still can’t do makeup properly.
So if someone decides that’s the yardstick for friendship? Praise God I don’t make the cut.
I can also be… a lot. I’m anxious. I talk too fast, walk even faster. I swing from over-the-top social to hermit-like isolation in a heartbeat. I overanalyze everything. I worry. I struggle with eye contact—even though I studied public speaking in school. I’m too critical of myself. I try too hard and relax too little.
But I’m also genuine. I’m real. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I cry when the dog dies in movies. I love my son with a fierceness that takes my breath away. I’m thoughtful, meticulous, smart, and my constant goal is to lift others up whenever I can. I want to be a little sunshine for those stuck in the rain.
Do I always succeed? No. But my people? They love me anyway. They accept my flaws as much as they celebrate my strengths. They embrace my awkwardness instead of rejecting it. They know when I’m too far in my own head, when I need to come out of my shell, or when I need to be gently pulled back in.
I will never be that flawless blogger with the perfectly curated Instagram feed. I will never be the PTA mom who bakes all the cookies and handcrafts every decoration. I will never cook Pinterest-perfect meals on a table straight out of Better Homes and Gardens. I will never have all the answers.
But I will stay true to my heart. I will allow God to grow, shape, mold, and refine me. I will love with my own brand of fierceness. I will try, every day, to leave a little love behind wherever I go.
And if you don’t like me? That’s okay. It may sting for a moment, but it won’t break me. I’m not for everyone, and honestly? What a boring world it would be if I were.
Because in the end, I can’t be everyone’s cup of tea.
And you know what? I’ve always preferred coffee anyway.
