Poppy Jamie - Happy Not Perfect: Upgrade Your Mind, Challenge Your Thoughts, and Free Yourself from Anxiety

By eight years old, I learned that if I could just please everyone, I might then be loved, and nothing would feel better. But that was a tall order. I was never the smartest, funniest, prettiest, sportiest, had the nicest shoes or most delicious lunchbox. My mediocrity (and soggy cucumber sandwiches) meant I had to try doubly to get approval and win love.

It seemed like I was the only average child in my class growing up. Claire had the voice of an angel. Charlie had the coolest ponytail. Nick was great at swimming. And I had no obvious superpower to attract friends. I had a sense that if I were just better, maybe people would like me more.

In school plays, I was relegated to Fairy #6, Orphan #4, or Hysterical Girl #12 in The Crucible. I was dumped by nearly all the boys I dated and felt lucky if anyone wanted to go out with me in the first place.

For most of my life Ive kept a diary and when I read back old entries from when I was eleven and twelve, I can see my toxic core beliefs starting to show up. At eleven, I was convinced I was not good enough and not worth dating even for a week.

N.B.: Going out with boys at my junior school meant walking around the playground with them for a few minutes at recess (potentially holding hands at most!).

A couple tween agony moments from those pages when I was eleven:

Sports followed the same vein. I sat on the bench more than I played field hockey, much to my embarrassment when my dad came to watch a game. Out of pity, the coach would put me on the field for the last ten minutes and I would then have to act like I wasnt scared of the ball. I was terrified.

My not good enoughpretty enoughsmart enoughthin enoughcool enough wounds grew deeper, no matter what I did. I was spiraling in self-blame. Even though, objectively, I was doing well in some areas, like academics, it seemed like everywhere I looked, I was inadequate. Not cool enough for the hipsters, and not smart enough for the geeks. I just wanted one person or group to embrace me with open arms. Despite my perma-straightened hair, blue shimmery overloaded eye shadow, and black-mascara-clumped curled lashes, it never happened, and the feeling of being unaccepted was creating a gaping hole inside. The toxic belief that I was not good enough in the way I looked, acted, sounded, and just