Tuesday, January 22, 2013

What I learned in the dentist's

Started the day with an email from an American publisher (friend of Furtheron) who would like to see some of my novel (yay!); came home from slimming class to an email from a British agent who wouldn't (boo!)

Guess which one has had the greater effect on my frame of mind.

In the dentist yesterday I was speed-reading a magazine article about how women, in particular but possibly men too, are much better at praising their friends and not seeing their deficiencies than they are with themselves. For example, a woman trying on a new outfit will see all the negative points. I know I do that: look at the size of my nose (obviously relevant when choosing a new skirt); it emphasises my hips; clings in all the wrong places; my hair is so grey (ditto relevance comment); and so on. If a friend was with me she'd no doubt say, 'You look great. Shows off your curves, clings in all the right places.'

As the article said, we're not lying to our friends but we genuinely don't see the little imperfections that we see in ourselves. We take in the bigger picture and like what we see. Of course the article was saying we should be nicer to ourselves Sometimes easier said than done but I think it does get easier as you get older and finally begin to accept that, though you might be imperfect, you're all right really.

But I still need time to pull myself together again after the rejection. Probably also need chocolate.

3 comments:

nick said...

Very interesting observation, and no doubt often true. I don't think I do that though, I can be both easy and hard on myself, and easy and hard on others depending on the situation. But I know many women are intensely and excessively and absurdly self-critical.

Leslie: said...

We are all the same in this regard, Liz. I recall once getting a wonderful performance review except for one minor flaw...you got it - I obsessed over that one little thing until I thought I'd go mad!

Liz said...

Sometimes I'm too nice to myself, nick! I usually come a cropper then.

It's a dreadful affliction, isn't it, leslie?