I is for My Irrational Insecurities

I is for My Irrational Insecurities

Insecurities can crop up at the worst moments, and they aren’t always rational. Like many things, how you manage and respond to the experience is what matters. Insecurities can make you crumble, or help you learn something about yourself.

Take this situation, for example:

We were sexting. It was super hot and he was saying all the right things. His words were like a slow drip of serotonin, making my cunt throb, making me crave him, snaking through my body and making me wanty and needy and wet. I’d been holding off, not touching myself because I didn’t want to rush. I wanted more of his slow burning desire, I wanted to make it last. We continued and he described, in delicious detail, the way he wanted to push inside of me and roll us over so I’d be on top … <record scratch sound>

Insecurities Suck

Sometimes I’m my own cock-blocker, my own buzzkill, and it sucks. Not even fantasies are safe, let alone the real thing.

On top? Are you kidding? He will die. You will crush him to dust. And even if you don’t, and he lives, no one wants to see that! You think that ‘from below’ is your best angle? Please. Come on, do you even have the thigh strength to ride him properly?  If he doesn’t die, you might! Ha! Is he attracted to melted candles? Because that’s basically what you look like naked …

Breaking the cycle

It’s a cruel script, and when it plays on repeat, it takes me out of whatever moment I’m in, no matter how amorous or erotic it may be.  The hardest part about these self-sabotage scripts is that they’re loops, self-fulfilling prophecies that can be so hard to get out of. To break the cycle, you must interrupt them and replace them with something less harmful. Sounds easy, but it’s not.

But it was him who suggested it. He knows what you look like, he knows what he’s in for. And moreover, he likes it. He likes YOU, he’s into it, he’s literally telling you he wants to push his body inside of yours. How much more reassurance do you need?! 

Next, he intimated how he wanted to watch me touch myself as we fuck, how he wanted to release a fountain of cum inside of me while he watched my head tip back and my tits bounce. I couldn’t stand it any longer. My words blinked from the text field to a conversation bubble: “I’m shy. I’m too fat to be on top …”. I watched the three bubbles that indicated him typing. It seemed to go on forever, but just when the irrational insecurities began to crop up, the most encouraging and rational paragraph appeared. I read it quickly, scanning for blame, rejection, anything to confirm that my inner saboteurs had won. I read it again and took in his words more slowly. They were kind. They were patient and empathetic. They were gentle and generous: “Thank you for telling me.”

External Validation is Valid

There is a lot of rhetoric out there about self love and external validation. Some would say that you can’t love yourself if you desire external validation, but that’s simply not true. We are social creatures and what others think about us matters. How much it matters can be an issue, but the fact that we are influenced by others is entirely human. If your only source of self worth comes from what others’ think, that’s worth examining. Likewise, if no one’s opinion can touch you. Balancing a healthy sense of self with self awareness is the goal.

Insecurities are Illuminating

Maybe the insecurity and fear I feel sometimes is less about how I actually look and more about whether I feel seen. Maybe I don’t actually need to think those terrible things if I know that it’s okay for them to exist. Perhaps I don’t always have to protect myself.  When someone meets you where you are, when someone shows you their humanity when you can’t hide your own, surely you can trust them, right? I want to because if I trust him to really hear me and see me, how can I distrust him when he says he wants me?

We picked up where we left off, the heat of our words radiating from my fingers as I sat up on my knees, touching myself. I imagined fucking him, just like he imagined. I could see myself, triumphantly bouncing on his cock, joyous and unfettered, gorgeous and alive. I’m lost in the would-be sensation of him exploding inside me, head back, tits bouncing. When I finally came I was euphoric. I was suddenly aware of how much I wanted to shed the shame and worry and let go of a lifetime of inhibitions. And then it hit me: I can.