In an episode of Sex and the City (second season), Carrie was complaining about how this guy never called her: "Maybe he thinks I'm ugly."
Miranda told Carrie: "Oh, get a grip. A guy doesn't call you for 3 days and you're ugly?"
"So what's your point?"
"It's amazing. We can feel totally good about ourselves. And then, it all goes out the window if the guy doesn't mirror that right back to us."
I listened to this, unsure whether to laugh or cringe. It was true. It was a thing I myself do all the time. I spent so much time and effort cultivating a healthy self-image--no, you're not fat! no you're not ugly! you're an intelligent, kind, funny person and totally not worthy of being relegated to the inferior post as some man's Consolation Prize! etc. In times of desperation, I have even written out a list of things I liked and disliked about myself--left column Likes, right column Dislikes--in the hopes of putting things into perspective. But the moment I get a crush on someone, it all gets blown to bits. "Does he like me? Maybe he likes me. Oh but look at him. He's so this, so that, why would he even look twice at me? Oh but look at his exes. They're all leggy and busty and have big eyes. I have none of that. I am so stupid for even thinking that I have a shot. Give it up already. God, look at me, I'm disgusting." Suddenly, I'm a defect of the human race, unworthy of anyone's admiration.
I go from "I'm smart, indpendent, kind, funny. I can hold my own. Some days I'm pretty. I have a nice smile." to "oh GOD I'm so mediocre-looking I probably fade into the wallpaper, who the hell wants character and humour when there are so many sweet girls out there with better faces, better bodies?"
I suspect that I do all this to brace myself for the worst. I make myself expect rejection so that it doesn't come out of the blue and knock me for a loop.
I debase myself and batter down my ego so that there's less of it for the man to destroy if and when the time comes. So that if he rejects me, I can accept it better, because "Well, I'm not that great anyway, so who can blame him?"
I make the man into something greater than he actually is; I focus on and exxagerate his strengths. I hold up this paragon next to myself, and my own strengths are paltry by comparison, because I didn't bother to exxagerate my own as well.
Whatever self-confidence I build does not seem to be able to withstand the cold blast of insecurity and rejection, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. But that's so stupid, isn't it?
How can I let my sense of self-worth be defined by a man, any man? What happened to me that I feel this compulsion to rain such abuse on myself the moment a man does not openly reciprocate my interest or affection? Am I fundamentally flawed? Or was I traumatised somewhere along the line and am now in need of some therapy to fix my head? Why is it never about the man, but always about me, about my shortcomings?
Maybe true, unshakeable confidence will come with age. And visits to the shrink.
