How I overcame my 20something insecurities

How enjoying a rich life experience has helped me find the real me and finally shake off my wretched youthful insecurities.

The one thing I will say about being 50 plus, is that I’m no longer as self-conscious and hard on myself as I was in my teens and twenties.

These days I can stare at myself in the mirror without shuddering at the way I look. I feel more self-assured and relaxed and am generally happy in life. For the first time, I know who I am and no longer feel like to have to act a certain way to make people accept or like me. After five decades I am finally at peace with myself.

But in my early years, that certainly wasn’t the case.

Back then, I struggled to be happy with who I was. I never thought I was good enough. Though externally, I appeared upbeat and self-assured, deep down I was so insecure about who I was and how I looked, that I would actively avoid people’s gaze, only speaking up when they acknowledged me. I wasn’t the type to stride into a room and spark up a conversation. That, thankfully, would come years later. Instead, I was more likely to be found skulking in the corner or lurking behind the most extrovert of people in the room, which was not ideal for a fledgling entertainment journalist whose job was to charm the celebs in to opening up about themselves. (Looking back, I was actually pretty confident when it came to conducting interviews. I think this was because I was meeting these people as a ‘journalist from which ever outlet’ and not just plain old me, which I guess gave me much more confidence.)

At work, my insecurities totally consumed me, which led me to believe I wasn’t good enough or attractive enough to push myself further, which I think hampered my initial career progression.

For one, I was very shy and modest in group or office situations. It would take a while for me to feel relaxed around people. I was an only child who had always been awkward around adults and I carried that through into the work place. It was only when I finally broke the ice with someone - usually after a one-to-one conversation – I’d finally feel at ease and relax with them. Only then would I flourish and let the real me shine through.

Despite my self-doubts, I knew deep down I had a lot to offer. I was witty, knowledgeable and a good soul. However, the fear of being judged by strangers about who I really was or what I looked like would sometimes become too much for me to deal with. I tried desperately to shrug off those insecurities, but instead they smothered me. I’d turn down invitations from PRs to lunch or coffee meets, worried they would scrutinise or ridicule me. I had built them up in my head as these beautiful, confident, self-assured people who would dismiss me out of hand of not being as cool as them. I feel so stupid now to think I thought that - as most were far from it - but it was how I felt then.

If my confidence at work was bad, then dating was a whole other minefield. As far as I was concerned, I was a speccy closeted geek who still didn’t quite understand who I was or what I wanted. Did I like girls? Did I like boys? I wasn’t sure. I was drawn to both, though I guess I knew deep down that it was the hairier variety of human that gave me that tantalising tingle I truly desired.

Living in the closet, I can say in retrospect, can be detrimental to your everyday life because you spend so much of your time presenting as someone you’re actually not. You put all your effort into ensuring no one sees the real you. You’re constantly hiding away and it can be extremely exhausting.

To make life easier for myself, I tried to be invisible. During my early teens at the Catholic all-boys secondary school I attended, I experienced the usual low level half-arsed homophobic bullying. To get by, I kept as low a profile as I could to avoid being singled out. Sadly, no matter how I quiet I was, I was still their number one target.

It was a tough existence, but in truth not as bad as it could have been. I was never physically attacked. While the lads’ comments hurt me at the time, in hindsight, I can accept what was said as schoolboy banter more than hatred and homophobia. Why? Because – surprise surprise - most of those ‘bullies’ turned out to be total queens themselves!

When I moved onto a co-ed inner city sixth form college, I felt a little more at ease with myself as mixing with girls meant I didn’t feel as intimidated as I had in a totally masc boys school environment. I made some close friends there, even attracted a few girlies along the way, but I still felt in my heart that I was a bit of a loser and not part of any cool circles. (I really didn’t appreciate at the time the genuinely warm attention I was receiving.)

I was awkward, skinny, slightly effeminate, and bespectacled with a penchant for embroidered waistcoats. Worst of all, I was cursed with a wild bush of frizzy, untamed auburn hair. It was the bane of my life. I tried everything I could to make it look good. I decided that if it was styled nicely (like the ‘do Jason Donavan sported in his Too Many Broken Hearts video clip) it would make my plain face look a little more dashing. I tried blow-drying it, teasing it with gel, chemically straightening it, but nothing seemed to work. As soon as I got sweaty or drenched in the rain, it would shrivel up into a messy mass of lacklustre frizzy curls and I would look awful.

To make matters worse, I used to cut my own hair because I was too self-conscious to visit the barber. The idea of engaging in awkward chit chat always filled me dread in case I got asked about anything too personal in front of a roomful of people. As I had no formal training in haircutting, the result was…well… as you can imagine… disastrous and looked at one point, as one dear friend put it, like I had ‘three haircuts on one head’.

At uni, the hair got worse. I grew it long at the back and wore Harry Potter style round specs. It wasn’t a good look. I looked like Sylvester McCoy. I was in dire need of a fairy godmother to give me that She’s All That style make over. Sadly none flew into my life and so I spent the next three years dateless, invisible and gawky.

As far as I was concerned, I was walking disaster as a human being. And it was all self-inflicted. I never tried to help myself. I never attempted to see the good in myself, even though my friends would assure me that I really wasn’t as worthless as I thought I was. But who listens to what friends say? They just tell you stuff that they think you need to hear. So, I continued to wallow in my own private misery.

But then, after I turned thirty, something changed.

By this stage of life, I was fully out and proud to my mum and friends. This had taken a massive weight off my shoulders and helped me stand taller and prouder than ever before. I had also landed a steady magazine job that I loved and knew I was good at, which bolstered my general confidence. It finally felt like I was growing into my skin, and I started to appreciate who I was.

However, while my general day-to-day life was starting to look up, my dating life was a totally different story. The problem? Guys just didn’t fancy me. Period. I would either be ignored, friend-zoned or used as a stepping stone to get to a hotter friend, which was always heart-breaking and thoroughly disconcerting. The worst experience I had, was when some random guy I’d be chatting to online agreed to meet me for a drink but didn’t show. Shitty, cowardly and heart-breaking as that was, what made the situation worse was when a week later he coldly messaged me to tell me that he had actually turned up to the date, clocked me and scarpered when he decided I wasn’t good looking enough for him. It crushed me.

After a further slew of rejections, I became disillusioned with the gay dating scene. I felt like I didn’t fit into it. Even though I knew gays came in all shapes and sizes, I came to the conclusion that I wasn’t the kind of guy – ie fit or ripped – that typical gays lusted over. And so, I decided I’d had enough. I was going to give up actively trying to seek out someone to fancy me.

Instead, I started hitting the bars with my best mate, expecting nothing more than a fun night out with perhaps a sloppy drunken kiss from someone at the end of the night. And I had a blast. Little did I know that this laissez-faire attitude toward dating would ultimately lead to meeting the man who would transform my life.

Not that I really want to go into it here, I first met my now-husband online. After weeks of chatting, we agreed to meet, though I had no other expectation than to make yet another ‘good friend’. But I was wrong. On this occasion, there was an instant spark and we hit it off immediately. The rest, as they say, is history.   

From that moment on, I was having the time of my life. I’d found someone who loved me and saw me as beautiful regardless of what I thought about myself. I had curated an amazing circle of loyal and devoted friends, whom I regarded as family and I had a job that I excelled at, a job which offered me life experiences I could only ever have dreamed about and ultimately the confidence I’d always needed.

Of course, there were things that still bugged me, but overall, I had never been as happy or at peace with myself. I felt much more relaxed, approachable, and ultimately more attractive. As a result, I have met so many fascinating people along the way, people who on paper are polar opposites to me but who I have discovered I am very in tune with. I  am now no longer scared of starting a conversation.

I finally realise that confidence and self-belief really is the key to happiness.

So here I am. A gay man in his early 50s and feel like I finally know who I really am. Sure, life continues to throw me the odd curve ball that knocks my confidence from time to time. I have questioned where I fit into a world that is so preoccupied with youth. I have occasionally doubted myself and the way I looked and have succumbed to brief moments of self-destruction. But I used my rich life experience (and a counsellor) to pull myself out of it once and for all.

I have learnt so much about living and who I really am over the years. I feel wiser and more confident that I can work my way through whatever tough times lie ahead. I know now my self-worth. I am happy. I no longer worry about my hair, I don’t care if people like me or not, I am happy. I have no regrets, although I wish I had been this self-awareness all those years ago.

This isn’t an essay to garner sympathy from people. I don’t need that! This is merely a cathartic reflection on my life that reminds me how far I’ve come. And who knows it might serve as an inspiration to anyone who currently doesn’t believe in who they are.

Because you should.

You are brilliant.

Just believe it and others and, more importantly, you will too.

Admissions Of Guiltenane is a witty collection of incisive mind burps and madcap memory farts by a seasoned entertainment journalist and magazine editor who’s just crashed unwittingly into his reflective 50s. Feel free to pop by anytime you like and if you do like it, please pop a friendly comment below and share with all your friends.