A friend said I was quirky and I couldn’t come up with a sassy response fast enough.

Does that mean I’m – in fact – not quirky?

She said it in a teasing manner and my reaction was enough to make it a running joke.

I tossed the word over to her. My quirky backpacks for her quirky socks. My quirky writing for her quirky producing. We had fun with it. But I wondered if she really thought I was, in fact, “quirky”.

So I texted her immediately after writing that last paragraph.

It’s legitimately crazy how much your own perception and other people’s perception of you differ.

I hate looking at myself to begin with. Reflection assignments in class kill me. Self evaluations at work kill me. Even fun personality quizzes, kill me.

I hate them because they force me to pause – which is hard to do – and reflect – which I refuse to do… unless it’s a part of my final grade, of course.

I completely recognize the possible cries of therapeutic help in those words, but I feel okay just looking ahead. I’m constantly chalking up what I’ve done and where I’ve been and meticulously calculating it into what I’m doing and where I want to be.

But I’m a complete liar because truthfully I’m terrified of looking at myself.

For someone who can’t stand being avoided, I’m extremely comfortable remaining unseen.

There’s a safety in being under the radar. Nothing for you – but nothing against you. No expectations, no responsibilities, no promises. I’m not invisible, just not outright in the open.

I’ve been cruising like this since elementary school. If you ever had to complete a project with a partner and got placed with me, you wouldn’t mind. I’m not your top choice, but I’ll do equal work, make you laugh, and not smell bad. We’d have fun on the project, more than you expected, but once the presentation is finished – we’d each go our own way. I was okay with that.

Too much clicking and I’d have to open up more. I’m always honest about myself, sometimes a little too honest (Twitter has a lot of dirt on me) but never vulnerable. I trust very few people with my story.

I have no idea why I’m so guarded. I’m the go to person in my group of friends to expose their dirty laundry, but I can never reciprocate. I’ve never had any kind of traumatic experience that made me distrust people and I don’t completely distrust people either. It’s more that I don’t want that much exposure (ironic that I’m a blogger). I’m not trying to hide any secrets, I just don’t feel as though my story is that much worth sharing. Sure, I can share stories. Sometimes I share them multiple times forgetting that I already told them (my friends can testify to this) but never my complete story.

I don’t think I’m that interesting.

So in a very difficult move towards vulnerability, I will share this: I have issues with my own self worth. I’m smart enough to recognize the importance in loving oneself and I preach it at everyone, but I’m struggling to actually do it. I question myself, doubt myself, and discourage myself almost always. I call it being realistic. In reality, it may just be destructive.

My friend responded to my text with, “You are actually quirky. Seriously and honestly.”

Well then.

I guess I’ve always liked making connections with as many people as possible. I can gush over Beyonce just as easily as Queens of the Stone Age. I like sushi just as much as I like a good grilled cheese (however, my wallet doesn’t). And I can make a day of staying at home just as exciting as running all over the city.

Maybe I am just that. Quirky.

Olivia