dear diary :: recovering perfectionist

Dear Diary,

I want to be liked. No, like really liked. I mean, I want people to walk away thinking, "Man, that girl is so fun to hang out with..." or "I totally dig her... she's awesome..." I think I have a problem. Maybe it's a bad case of need-to-be-liked... or a stent of desperately-want-your-approval... or maybe they just call it egotistical?

...I prefer recovering perfectionist.

I mean, I think it's okay to want to be liked... but I have been asking myself lately how much value I place in other people's opinions of me. And if I'm honest, it's way too much. I am thirty years old. THIRTY FLIPPIN' YEARS OLD... I kind of feel like I should be secure in who I am as a woman by now. But so, so often I start second guessing myself.

Take this post for instance... I have been thinking about starting a "Dear Diary" segment for months now, but it seemed too honest... too transparent... too raw. I started writing this post, then started a totally different one about a healthy snack idea. Because a healthy snack idea is safe. If I post about apples and peanut butter, you finish reading, and if all goes as planned, you think I'm clever and maybe even healthy. But really, at the end of the day, you know nothing about me.

But what happens if I write this post? What happens if I lay it all out there? What happens if I am a little more transparent?

I thought it was ironic how the title of my blog is Black Tag DIARIES. A diary is a safe place... a place for you to scribble your most honest feelings and emotions... a place to write with reckless abandon with no fear of what someone else might think. It's funny how all of a sudden... now that I know some of you are actually reading... my tone changes completely. Those honest emotions turn into guarded thoughts that I hope you'll approve of.

I desire to be confident in the woman God created me to be. I desire for this blog to be used as more than a witty little blip about junk food and craft ideas. I want to share my heart, and even (gasp) my struggles, in hopes that someone reading might be able to relate just a little bit. And if 100 people don't like it... or even don't like me... that's okay. Because I'm a recovering perfectionist.