Who I Am
Tomorrow I’m doing a professional photo shoot with my photographer who did our boudoir shoot earlier this year. He was so great for making us feel comfortable and confident that I figured I could use his spirit right now, and my LinkedIn could use a better photo.
I’ve been having a rough time with confidence recently, but today is hype day. I’m going to maximize the megalomaniacal ego I normally keep (perhaps too) subdued and brag about myself for an entire post.
Readers: You can 100% take me down a peg here later if you want, but I just ask you to hold back until tomorrow (10/10/2023) evening. 
I do want feedback when I’m out of line, as always, but right now I need those Tinkerbell claps.
This post was inspired by an Emmy award-winning artist and friend, Donavon Brutus, who encouraged me not to give credence only to one side of the argument in my mind. His art is showcased in the thumbnail for this post, and he’s done wonderful pieces all over the world you should all take a look at.
Thank you for your encouragement and shared vulnerability, Donavon. Let me know if you’d like me to say more/less about you here and I’ll make edits. 💖
I have wonderful friends, family, and chosen community surrounding me.
Despite living on the other side of the country, the family and friends I grew up with back on the east coast still include me in their lives. They keep talking to me even when I don’t reach out. They let me stay in the group chats and keep up with their activities. They send me photos and videos of my nibblings. I’m welcomed with warm hugs any time I visit.
Despite how often I flake, my friends still invite me to parties and events because they understand my struggles with social anxiety and pain/energy/attention management.
I’m part of several local communities, full of the best people I’ve ever met. Gamers, outdoorfolk, cooks, karaoke divas, movie geeks, LEGO collectors, queers, neurodivergent folk, and more. Some of those communities I’ve even helped build myself!
I’m loved so deeply and so well by so many people, as my full self. Each time I’ve revealed my truth (which has been constantly as I’ve learned it since I started blogging), only a few have ever relented in their love and support. No matter how insecure I feel sometimes, I always have mountains of evidence to argue against those critical inner voices because I’m so blessed by my chosen family. 
I’m a good partner.
I’m under no illusions I’m always easy to be with, but I’ve witnessed each person I’ve had a loving relationship with bloom and flourish while we’re together. I don’t think I’ve ever left someone in worse shape than I found them, and I’m proud of every one of them I’ve been able to stay in touch with since.
Managing an amicable divorce after a twelve year relationship encompassing the most chaotic and foundational years of our lives is an incredibly rare thing. I can’t explain how different we each are today compared to who we were when we met or the sometimes horrible things we put each other through, but it’s amazing we survived it all and still talk today. And now I mostly remember it all without regret.
I believe I hold up my end of relationships with integrity. I’ve never cheated. I work hard to be honest, even when I’m uncertain about my feelings. When I need to learn how to communicate better, I face the often-steep learning curve. I take pains to deliver on promises and not let anyone down. I always try to make people feel safe with me. I’m giving and proactive in showing love and affection whenever I have the ability.
That paragraph is one I’m most nervous to write, though I do believe it’s all true. I have no way of truly knowing how people think and talk about me after we break up, but I don’t think anyone regrets their time with me. And if I’m being egotistical about it, I’d like to take partial credit for helping them become the really cool people they are now. They each certainly get partial credit for me.
I’m incredibly resilient.
I’ve learned in adulthood that my life has been experienced with burdens most people don’t carry. When I was young, I had no idea the other humans I was being measured against had no such burdens, and yet I still excelled in some of those comparisons.
I ranked in the top 5 of almost every class I took up through middle school. I was usually picked early in gym class. I tested in the top 1% nationally in nearly every standardized test. I scored higher on the SAT in seventh grade than the average high schooler did nationally. I competed with college students in theater competitions and won several awards. I won awards for houses, machines, and 3D graphics I designed in high school.
But I don’t have to measure myself against others to feel worthy. Competition and hierarchy mean little to me, and I reject the zero sum rules the world tries to impose upon us. Instead I prefer to measure triumph.
I performed in a rigorous Fine Arts major in college while working full time. I moved across the country to a city I’d never lived in, where I knew no one, to pursue my dream of working in the gaming industry. I graduated from art school while continuing to work full time, scraping by on EBT (food stamps) for most of it. I graduated in 2006 directly into the financial crisis Wall Street was in denial about until 2008. We shut down the school a few years after I graduated by winning a class action lawsuit for the non-existent job placement they promised.
I worked odd part time gigs building websites and testing mobile games while mooching off my girlfriend for the first few years to get my foot in the door. I was jerked around by awful employers like shady entrepreneurs, porn production companies, and even The Church of Scientology to have my finances and future ripped out from under me repeatedly. I defaulted on my student loans after expending every deferment and aid option in the book.
And yet here I am, an accomplished leader, coder, designer, and writer living as a medium sized fish in one of the biggest ponds on the planet: The San Francisco Bay Area.
I work hard.
No matter how often I joke about being lazy, I’m far from it.
I wake up each morning in time to immediately prepare for my day. I have a lot of trouble sleeping, and it took me over thirty years to find ways to get 6+ hours of sleep consistently. No matter what I do, being awake and functional before 8am is nearly impossible for me. This doesn’t make me lazy or broken; it’s just my body’s rhythm.
I have reminders on my devices for things most people seem to do automatically. I have them for: taking my supplements, brushing my teeth, working out, bathing, shaving, taking my pain meds, eating meals, drinking water. My phone is named “Corry’s Brain” because these reminders keep me from falling apart.
But I do them. I design these systems for myself and I build discipline to do them no matter how hard they are sometimes.
I exercise regularly. Usually 4 times per week, but sometimes 5. It’s hard for me to do it, harder than it is for most people.
I eat a balanced diet. I cook for myself. I shop frugally at local stores whenever I can.
I take care of my dog and he helps me take care of myself. He’s old, blind, possibly deaf, and rickety, but he’s my heart and I need him.
I walk everywhere. I haven’t had a car since 2017 and don’t want one. Public transit is a godsend.
I give my time to others. I mentor queer and neurodivergent youth. I show up as an activist whenever I can. I volunteer for making my neighborhood a safer, nicer, more accessible place for everyone. When I have money, I spend and donate it to help others. I show up for people in my life when I can. And I beat myself up too much for when I can’t.
I open myself up to the world to try and make it safer for others to do the same. I’m harassed, bullied, neglected, passed over in my career, and rejected for it, but I do it anyway. Authenticity and vulnerability are painful but worth it every time someone tells me I help them.
I take responsibility. I’m accountable for my actions and their consequences, even when they’re unintended. I don’t shirk challenges to be better without at least trying.
I am brave. I’m scared and anxious and insecure almost all the time, but I do things anyway. My comfort zone is small, so I must leave it frequently.
I’m good at what I do.
I’ve never loved having a job, but I love working together with people on a shared goal. I prefer when the goal is making the world tangibly better, but selling clothing or software or entertainment is also okay I guess. I get a delightful thrill out of collaboration and helping my colleagues win and grow. If there’s anything I miss since my layoff, it’s this thrill.
I have a network of awesome hard working people who work with integrity. People who I’ve never seen climb over someone else to elevate themselves. Who have never failed to put their best work out and communicate openly the whole way.
Whenever I feel imposter syndrome kicking in, I remember the shoulders I stand on in my work. The insecure part of me worries I’d be nothing without them, but then I remember they chose me too. They asked me to join their project teams. They ask me for advice. They send me their code, designs, or copy to review. They trust me. And if those incredible people believe in me, I should too.
I’m beautiful.
(deep breath) 
I am beautiful.
I don’t need to see people like me on TV, in video games, in movies, or on the covers of magazines to know this. It’s all just marketing and marketing is always 99.999% lies.
The things I see beauty in others are also beautiful in me.
Stretch marks, wrinkles, and scars are sexy, mysterious clues to a fascinating story of a life lived and survived.
Curves, folds, and soft bits are hot. They make a figure interesting to look at and unique. They feel wonderful to touch. My life drawing classes were boring without them. Ancient masters chose them to portray the epitome of beauty and fertility, and we continue to marvel at those works centuries later, even when marketers want us to hate ourselves until we buy their products.
Masculine features are beautiful too. Just because I don’t feel at home in many of them and I was culturally conditioned to be repulsed at the bodies of people born like I was, it doesn’t make them ugly. I don’t have to shatter and rebuild my physical form to be beautiful, to deserve respect, or to be loved.
I am beautiful, even when I’m in between states. Even when my hair isn’t perfect, my skin isn’t dewy, and my back hair isn’t entirely gone. As a human, I am never ”finished” so I can’t wait to love myself until I reach an impossible final state. I am always a work in progress and I am beautiful every step of the way.
(And so are you.)
I am wise.
I enjoy learning. I love hearing about the perspectives of others. Traveling to places I’ve never seen is my greatest delight.
I try to listen, even when it’s hard to shut the hell up about something I’m passionate about sometimes.
I try to read, even though my brain makes it difficult to stick to it. I think I still do okay.
I try to read and learn hard things. To do my homework as a citizen of privilege to do so. I try to share what I learn without speaking over those who I learned it from.
I am philosophically rigorous with my views. Contradictions are examined, biases uncovered, and trauma reactions are tested.
I try to forgive. Even when it’s incredibly difficult.
I am safe.
I live in a city and state that recognizes my right to exist. I don’t have to fear law enforcement or oppression here.
Discrimination and harassment I experience is illegal and though I may not be able to prosecute it, the perpetrators don’t hold the full protection of the state to harm me.
I have several layers of protection if I encounter misfortune. I have insurance, savings, and friends and family who will help me if I’m in danger of losing my home or health.
Even my mortgage company, a soulless bank that couldn’t possibly care less about me as a human, believes in me. Their letter declining my request for mortgage assistance said as much when they stated my unemployed status was likely temporary.
Even in my worst case scenario, I will be surrounded by people who care about me, have a roof over my head, and food in my belly. I am very fortunate.
I am worthy.
I am worthy of love and respect. My identity is not a burden too heavy for others to bear.
I am worthy of a job that pays me well and treats me with respect without requiring me to pretend I’m someone else.
I am worthy of a partner (or partners) who looks right at every part of me, sees me exactly as I am, and loves me unflinchingly.
I am worthy of being thought of and remembered as a good person who tries their best.
Takeaways
I originally posted this on Facebook to a limited audience of close friends (and new friends who I felt I could trust). I brought them here because I wanted to write this part at the end: what I learned from exposing my ego the same way I expose my insecurity.
Duality
I’m not normally one who thinks of things in extremes or binaries, so this concept of dualism between my positive self-talk and my inner critic hasn’t occupied my mind lately. Reality isn’t confined within a straight line between any two points. Truth lies anywhere except those extremes, but means and averages aren’t how to find it either.
All this said, I recognize I’d been unfairly silencing the positive more than the negative lately. Giving voice to my ego has helped me already, so I’ll try to remember to maintain a balance between those two — never-correct, but equally incorrect — voices.
It was harder to write than my fears and insecurities.
Writing these exhausted me in a way I rarely feel. It’s never easy to air my insecurities either, but for some reason bragging felt harder. I felt compelled to add qualifiers to soften my statements when I didn’t need to. I had to stop myself from providing evidence for each statement because I felt a need to argue against some counterpoint no one was (yet) making.
I’m taking this as an indication I need to write more like this. My body needs practice with the positive just being positive. My writing needs to lead my mental state in this as well.
My psyche sometimes does this dangerous thing where it accepts negative information as truth and positive information with skepticism. I need to treat each with the same critical eye, and in times of special need, perhaps even apply a gentler hand to how I view myself.
It reveals my fears.
My fears and my gratitude are matched pairs. I’m afraid to lose these things because I value them so deeply. Every sentence of these sentiments can be flipped into one of my fears. “What if I’m not really ___?” is what weighs on me in my dark moments. But the reason those things would be such painful realizations is because I expend such effort to make them true.
And, as I tell myself “Yes, I am a writer, because a writer is someone who writes.” I must also tell myself: Yes, I’m also these other things I continuously try to be through action.
It reveals my core values.
As these sentences flowed from me, I tried not to think of anything but honest positivity. When I read them all back later, they reveal my values:
- Love, Community, Interpersonal Bonds
- Honesty, Authenticity
- Integrity, Accountability, Reliability
- Perseverance
- Introspection, Continuous Personal Development
- Lifting Up Others
And the order I unintentionally wrote the chapters in was somewhat telling of my priorities.
I definitely needed this exercise.
If you’re going through a rough time with your confidence, I highly recommend you try it too. You don’t have to share it publicly like I do, but write it down and read it back to yourself. It’s helped me bounce back from a low spot and I’m hoping it results in me knocking some interviews out of the park soon.
[UPDATE: 10.10.23] Now, if you’re compelled to do so, feel free to correct any inaccurate statements I’ve made. I’ll keep working on it.