In an issue of “The Atlantic,” the article, “The Confidence Gap,”
written by Katie Kay and Claire Shipman, emphasizes how the
woeful state of confidence exists in the female gender. Here are some disturbing
discoveries:
“In studies, men overestimate their
abilities and performance, and women underestimate both. Their performances do
not differ in quality.”
“Women applied for a promotion only
when they believed they met 100% of the listed qualifications. Men would apply
when they met 60%.”
“What doomed the women was not their
actual ability to do well on the tests. They were as able as the men were. What
held them back was the choice not to try.”
Yep, discouraging,
isn’t it?
This is not
about bashing men. However, it is about addressing the existence of confidence
in women. Is it there? Where is it? How much exists? What is it
dependent upon?
Reading the
article, I couldn’t help but view my own situation, especially in the eating disorder
context. I was notorious for believing in and striving for perfection. I
couldn’t get on with my life unless and until I achieved this impossible
standard.
“I desperately wanted my dad to notice me. I
learned very quickly that one surefire way to do that was by winning awards.
When I won something, I wasn’t completely worthless or useless. I was
productive; I was ‘earning my keep.’ I set impossible standards for myself. Try
as I might with award after award, I’d eventually disappoint everyone, including
myself, proving that I wasn’t worth anything after all.
My
perfect attendance record in school is an excellent example. For three years in
a row, I did not missed one day of school, knowing that I would win a perfect
attendance certificate, tangible proof on paper that I was worthwhile. It
became a standard I had to maintain because my dad seemed pleased in my
performance. Of course, he never said that he was proud of me, but he did lay
off the criticisms briefly. So for the next few years, I went to school with
colds, sore throats and influenza. I remember going to school once with a
temperature of over 101, sitting at my desk, on the verge of throwing up, yet
only thinking of that certificate.
When
I reached junior high, I became so sick once I had to stay home. I felt
defeated and anxious. My dad, who had never really been sick with so much as a
cold, was unsympathetic to my condition. With each passing day I stayed home
from school, the tension mounted. Three days at home, according to my dad, was
enough. He became upset at my mom for being ‘such a terrible mother.’ After
three days home, he had enough. He decided he would take me into school to make
sure I got there.
On
the way to school, he was fuming and I was scared to death, but my fourteen-year-old
mind wanted to know something. We’d never had any father/daughter talks about
anything, much less about the existence of a loving relationship, but I got up
the nerve to ask him, ‘Do you still love me?’ His answer? ‘If you do this
again, I won’t.’
His
answer proved it. It was my fault. I had to prove myself in order to be loved.
I wasn’t the cute, good little daughter he should have had. If I could just
look right and act right, he’d love me. All I have to do, I decided, is be
perfect. That’s all.”
Through the
eating disorder filter, that perfection, indeed, took the shape of emaciation,
constant dieting, punishing exercise and overwhelming self-loathing.
It has only
been within the last ten years I’ve come to see it’s not about perfection, but
excellence in life. We can do well; we can do excellently. And that reality is
not predicated upon perfection.
What is
stopping us, right now, as women, from pursuing our dreams, desires and goals?
Are we paralyzed by fear of not being perfect? Do we have confidence in
ourselves- and in our God, even, in spite
of our human imperfection?
After all,
what about this scripture?
“For with God
nothing shall be impossible.”
Luke 1:37
Let that, be
we male or female, be our confidence!
Copyright © 2015 by Sheryle Cruse
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