It was an eighth grade girls locker room – that melting pot of various levels of development and insecurity. We were in the middle of changing back into our clothes after a probably humiliating PE class (that may have been the day I got knocked to the ground by a basketball to the head). A girl on the further end of the development spectrum was fixing her hair in the mirror.

“Oh my gosh, guys. Why didn’t anyone tell me I looked ugly?” 

Her statement had the desired effect. There were audible scoffs and several variations of, “Oh, stop. You’re sooo pretty.”

I rolled my eyes and turned toward my locker, trying to get my shirt back on with the least possible exposure. She was easily one of the prettiest and most popular girls in our grade, and I was certain she knew it. I, on the other hand, was very young for my grade and behind everyone in development, I wasn’t allowed to wear makeup yet, I didn’t know what to do with my abundance of stubbornly straight hair, and I was still missing both my top canines. I was not cool and never would be.

We all start kindergarten on a basically even playing field. But somewhere very early along the way, there is a democratic election where the popular group is chosen. I must have been sick that day.

I often wondered what the criteria was for being in that group. It didn’t seem that they were uniform in beauty, intelligence, humor, kindness, or anything else. The only thing they seemed to have in common was…

CONFIDENCE.

Whether it was real or pretend, they all exuded a certain everything-I-do-is-cool energy. Whereas I was always embarrassed by what I liked or what I wore or how I looked. I found taking a compliment difficult and always assumed people thought I was weird.

How did that happen?

My parents loved me and thought the world of me. They built me up constantly, and yet confidence was still elusive.

I remember the first time I thought I looked pretty. I was probably 7. We were going to a baseball game where my dad was the coach. At my request, my mom had put my hair in two french braids tied together. I was wearing a white shirt with a purple sparkly flower on it that I was quite fond of. I examined myself in our big bathroom mirror and thought simply, “I look pretty.”

But I quickly taught myself that it was not appropriate to think that about oneself. That was bragging, and no one likes someone who brags. The scriptures are very clear about the importance of being humble.

So, I learned not to think things like that. I found myself focusing on my worst parts – my hips are too big, my teeth are too horsey, my nose protrudes, I have a bald spot that interrupts my hairline, my eyelashes are too blonde, my skin is too white and blotchy. After awhile, that’s all I could see.

I remember when this picture was taken. I was just about to graduate high school. A bunch of us went to Applebees for lunch, and my best friend snapped this picture of me mid-laugh. I hated it. I thought my nose looked huge, my eyebrows nonexistant, my teeth yellow, and my hair messy. I didn’t see how happy I was or how lucky I was to have my great friends. I picked it apart in a way I never would have done to a picture of anyone else. It seems I always looked at myself that way – with a fine tooth comb, scanning for imperfections.

I always thought that some change in my physical appearance would improve my confidence. When I can wear makeup, I’ll fit in better. When all my teeth are finally in, I’ll look prettier. If I lose weight, I’ll feel better about myself. But then, I did wear makeup. My teeth did come in. I even got braces to make them straight. I did lose weight. And guess what? 

It didn’t work.

Turns out my confidence issues were not skin deep. They went way deeper.

I used to work at an elementary school helping small groups with reading. One day, a little girl came and sat at my table. Her bottom lip quivered and she looked ready to burst into tears at any moment. She was clad head to toe in fuzzy christmas jammies.

Another girl started laughing and said, “Why are you wearing pajamas?”

In a barely audible voice, she said “I forgot it wasn’t pajama day.” She began to tear up and buried her head in her arms. I quickly reassured her that she looked awesome and all of us wished we were wearing pajamas too. She brightened a little and we got through the lesson.

A week later, a little boy in that same group came wearing Hulk pajamas. Someone said loudly, “It’s not pajama day! Why are you wearing pajamas?” He got the biggest grin on his chubby face and said “I don’t care! I like to be comfy.” He did a little comfy dance and looked terribly pleased with himself. He was perfectly comfortable in his pajamas despite what anyone said against it.

I reflected on the difference between these two. Why, after making the same mistake, was he proud and she humiliated?

I wish everyone was like him, but I was just like her.

At a young age, I became very self-conscious about my interests. I thought that everything I liked was nerdy. I didn’t like people to know the kind of books and movies I liked. I would turn off whatever music I was listening to as soon as there was a chance anyone would hear it. I never wanted graphics on my t-shirt or cartoons on my lunch box. I was terrified that someone would make fun of something I thought was cool.

For example, on one fateful 3rd grade field day, a classmate saw a thin strip of my purple underwear poking up above my jeans. She thought it was quite humorous and started telling everyone I was wearing purple underwear. Where some would have said “Who cares? Purple is awesome!”, I wanted to bury myself in the dusty rocks by the jungle gym.

I decided I hated the color purple. I went home, threw all my colored underwear away, and wore only white underwear until I was 20 years old. Do you know how hard it is to find packs of all white underwear for little girls?

Thus, purple underwear becomes a metaphor for my whole grade school experience.

Where some would have seen a party bus, I saw a large, red, embarrassing 15 passenger van I had to drive to school. While some danced like lunatics at school dances and had a blast, I shuffled awkwardly looking around hoping no one was watching me. While some shaved a bald spot to be the gym coach for halloween, I would stay in the car until I saw a sufficient number of people dressed up to be sure I hadn’t gotten the date wrong. Heaven forbid I’m dressed like a cowgirl at school on a day other than Halloween!

I was trapped in an endless paranoia about what people were thinking of me.

I didn’t let it stop me from playing sports or being in band, choir and theatre. But, I was never confident in my abilities. I was always a little surprised when I made a sports team or audition group. And even then, I was hyper-critical.

My brain became a highlight reel for my worst moments. I don’t remember the great plays I made in softball or soccer. I know there were some, but that’s not what I remember. I remember that time I threw the ball behind me and the time I ran totally unguarded up to the soccer ball and missed it completely and the time I had hands in the goalie box and the time I sprained my knee and didn’t catch the ball that cost us our last game in the state tournament. Those are the things that stick out to me.

While my lack of confidence didn’t totally ruin school, it hindered me from being the person I wanted to be, the person I could have been. If it had stopped at feeling self-conscious, I could live with that.

But it didn’t.

It made me a poor friend and girlfriend. I wasn’t good at relationships. I was jealous and sensitive because I honestly couldn’t understand why someone would love me or want to spend their time with me.

If I saw some friendless soul sitting alone at lunch, I would frequently have the desire to go sit by them so they wouldn’t be lonely or sad. But I didn’t. I was always worried about what people would think of me. As horrific as it sounds, I would think, “If I go sit by that person, people won’t think I’m trying to be nice, they’ll think that’s the best I can do. If a popular person did it, everyone would think how noble and kind they are. If I do it, they’ll think I’m on that level.” 

Are you squirming? I am.

Does that sound like humility? No. Does it sound like confidence? No. Somehow, I had managed to miss both.

I learned the hard way that confidence isn’t actually tied to talent, beauty, or fitting in. Many of the prettiest people are terribly insecure about their looks. Many intelligent people don’t see it in themselves and set their own limitations. Many talented artists and writers refuse to share their work with anyone. Many musicians, dancers, or speakers are too petrified to perform in public. Many of the most Christlike people in the world keep a running list of all their worst qualities and beat themselves over the head with it.

So where was I supposed to get this self-esteem everyone kept talking about? And was it appropriate to even try? The line between confidence and arrogance seemed so fine, and I really did want to be humble.

And then I heard something that changed me. In his sweet German accent, Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf said:

“Some suppose that humility is about beating ourselves up. Humility does not mean convincing ourselves that we are worthless, meaningless, or of little value. Nor does it mean denying or withholding the talents God has given us. We don’t discover humility by thinking less of ourselves; we discover humility by thinking less about ourselves.”

This statement leveled me. No wonder I had missed the mark so completely! In my quest for humility, I had mistakenly picked up just another form of pride. And I was imprisoned by it. 

Though my thoughts about myself were mostly negative, they were still all about me. I had fallen prey to Uncle Screwtape’s classic lie. In C. S. Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters, the demon Uncle Screwtape is trying to teach his demon apprentice nephew how to distract the subject he is tempting from true humility. He writes:

“You must therefore conceal from the patient the true end of Humility. Let him think of it, not as self-forgetfulness, but as a certain kind of opinion (namely, a low opinion) of his own talents and character. Some talents, I gather, he really has. Fix in his mind the idea that humility consists in trying to believe those talents to be less valuable than he believes them to be… By this method thousands of humans have been brought to think that humility means pretty women trying to believe they are ugly and clever men trying to believe they are fools. And since what they are trying to believe may, in some cases, be manifest nonsense, they cannot succeed in believing it, and we have the chance of keeping their minds endlessly revolving on themselves in an effort to achieve the impossible.”

So, no, humility has not been achieved when you’ve successfully convinced yourself of your worthlessness. That means all that work I put into pulling myself down was utterly wasted. 

How irritating.

It seems that  real humility and real confidence are not mutually exclusive. In fact, it’s just the opposite. They are two sides of the same coin, and they are gained by looking outward. They are gained by thinking of ourselves less. They are gained by lifting others and improving the world around you.

God loves paradoxical commandments. Pay tithing, and he’ll open the windows of heaven to you. Lose yourself, and you’ll find yourself. Surrender your will to him, and you will be made free.

I believe humility is another one of those tricky commandments for our finite brains. The better we are at being humble, the more confident we become. Because true confidence comes from Him. But the more we focus on our imperfections, the more prideful we become because we are focusing on ourselves.

I’ll always remember her. I saw her in the temple. I never heard her name. She was talking to a temple worker and she radiated…something. She was not what Hollywood would tell us is pretty. She had a mane of unruly, frizzy hair, wore no makeup, and was not particularly thin. And yet, her happiness made her beautiful. She laughed and spoke comfortably with the elderly man next to her. She had a smile that went up to her eyes, and she never took it off.

There is no plastic surgery that can accomplish this. Yet, that kind of confidence and beauty is available to all of us.

But how do we do it? How do we get that kind of light? The light that the girl in the temple radiated. How do we walk in this world of Wemicks impervious to stars or dots? (If you didn’t understand that reference, stop reading this immediately and go read “You Are Special” by Max Lucado.)

I don’t have all the answers for this. My husband reminds me daily not to talk badly about myself. If you’re like me, maybe you’ve self-deprecated for so long that you’re not even able to believe that you are beautiful or have any talent at all. We just have to start small and it will get easier. Once again, Uncle Screwtape sheds some light. He knows what “The Enemy” (Christ) is trying to make of us.

“The Enemy wants to bring the man to a state of mind in which he could design the best cathedral in the world, and know it to be the best, and rejoice in the fact, without being any more (or less) or otherwise glad at having done it than he would be if it had been done by another. The Enemy wants him, in the end, to be so free from any bias in his own favour that he can rejoice in his own talents as frankly and gratefully as in his neigh­bour’s talents—or in a sunrise, an elephant, or a waterfall. He wants each man, in the long run, to be able to recognise all creatures (even himself) as glorious and excellent things.”

God wants us to recognize our gifts, not to raise ourselves above others, but to rejoice in his goodness and to bless his children.

So, my formula for how to gain both confidence and humilty?

First, don’t be afraid to acknowledge the best in you. Your talents are God-given. If someone tells you you’re beautiful, don’t be afraid to believe it. Don’t think about it all day by trying not to think about it all day. If you are a talented artist, athlete, or musician, use it to lift and inspire people. If you are smart, make the world a better place because of your intellect. Don’t waste your gifts by trying to pretend they aren’t real. You don’t need to take credit for the talents and opportunities God has given you. That means you can appreciate what’s good about you without being arrogant.

Second, stop thinking about whether you are good enough and look for someone to love and serve. You’ll be amazed by what it does for your confidence and your humility.

Third, be happy. Happiness is beautiful. Happiness is a magnet for success. Think about good things. Dwell on the best in the world and the best in others.

Here’s Roald Dahl in some of my favorite words ever penned:

“A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts it will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.”

So, my toothless eighth grade self, if you have trouble seeing the beauty in yourself, look for the beauty in the world around you. Look for it in the brave little flower poking up between slabs of concrete, look for it in the people you pass in the hall, look for it in the rising sun. Dwell on it, create it, help others find it. And soon, before you’re even aware, you’ll have taken your place among God’s most glorious creations and you won’t even know how you got there.