Confessions of An Introvert…

I am an Introvert.

I live right on the edge of the bubble. Just outside of the excitement, of life happening at the moment. Peeking in like a desperate window shopper longingly gazing at a purchase she can’t afford to make. Envying the absolute delight in all of the faces inside of the coveted bubble.

I am an Introvert.

More often, I‘m caught between a fraught yearning of desperately desiring to experience life inside of the bubble and utter contentment of observing it from the outside. A constant struggle of feeling like I’ve missed out on the only opportunity to fully be alive and another chance to grab life by the wheels is just around the corner. An optimist and pessimist in the same body. On the outside, I appear quiet, reserved and reflective. That’s how most view me and the label shy has been thrust upon me more times that I can recall. The revelation here is that this couldn’t be further from the truth about the real me. The shy label is only armor, armor that protects my rich inner world of a constant stream of loud thoughts, an imagination that floats to unimaginable heights for days even weeks at a time and vivid color filled dreams of past and future life. And while my exterior expression may communicate I have nothing to speak about, my mind is playing like a tape recorder on fast forward all of the time. Much of my teenage life I spent in angst and while this is normal teenage woes, for me it was because I wanted to accept the shy label, I thought it was befitting. True, I didn’t talk much, striking up conversations with strangers and friends alike caused anxiety. Instead of conquering my teenage angst, my worries only advanced into deeper roots as I developed into an adult. I spent years attempting to outgrow the shy label, struggling to be more assertive, more open to life, more social, all the while fighting against the grain of who I was originally created to be.

Again, always just outside of the bubble.

A traumatic experience forced me into therapy a few years ago, extensive therapy, where I had no choice but to face my nightmares alone. And speaking of alone, I oft wondered why I so cherished, essentially thrive at times when I find myself there. I spent years convincing myself something was wrong with me, that I wasn’t normal, like everyone else. Therapy, good therapy, gently places a mirror in your hand and lovingly forces you to stare at your reflection. At your insecurities and fears and again lovingly pushes you to embrace all of it. And in the accepting, the false layers began to peel away until you are stripped down to your true core. In all my getting, I got an understanding of me, of my introverted nature. I’m learning about self-care, what it consists of and how it relates to me. I’m learning to unleash the creative inside of me, instead of hiding her, allowing her to breathe and live. I’m learning the endless stories, fantasies inside of my head can actually be turned into something magical once my fingers hit the keyboard. I’m learning music, an impromptu solo dance party, an uninterrupted walk in the park, a glance into the blue sky on a busy day are like white blood cells fighting foreign substances attempting to invade my soul. I’m learning to pull all the way back after a really people intensive, environmentally stimulating work day in order to recharge. I’m learning to say no when I don’t possess the desire to say yes and not to accept social invitations out of guilt. I’m learning I cannot give of myself if my tank is empty and refueling requires alone time. I’m learning not to fear the unexpected waves of creativity, which usually involve a tsumani of intense emotional vulnerability, but instead allow it to swallow me, get still and just create. I’m learning mistakes are not fatal but directional and purposeful, and they are needed in any growth process. I’m learning that I am me and me, fatally flawed but gracefully forgiven, is enough.

I am Enough.

I am an Introvert.

And I’m finally living my truth.


My Highest Self

To be great is to be my highest self

To be me to my fullest capacity

Unapologetically. Honestly. Sincerely.

Loving myself completely

And loving the life I live

Putting love and positive energy into the Universe

With no expectation and all the faith in the world

I am great because I’ve claimed it.

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Christine M. Hamilton

Visual Artist, Wardrobe Stylist, Style Blogger, Style Enthusiast

Born and raised in Bton Rouge, La

Current New Orleans, La Resident

No Fear Factor

I awake startled, in night sweats, breathing heavily with my heart racing this isn’t some fictional story I’m constructing in my head. This is real. Terror sweeps through my physical body, as familiar menacing thoughts replay over and over again. What if I fail and fail miserably? What if no one responds? What if I’m a fake, a phony? What if people think I know nothing about fashion? What if I’m completely delusional about my writing? What if no one gets what I’m trying to do? What if I’m just not good enough? What if? What if? What if? What if?

These thoughts have plagued me for weeks, months ever since I made the decision to bear my soul to the world by starting my own blog. After all, I have dreams of creating and running my own magazine one day so starting with a blog seemed ideal at the time. Taking the necessary steps to set up said blog has been overwhelming, frightening and exciting. Partially because I’m such a perfectionist but mostly because of fear. And each time I get a dose of confidence or some outside encouragement, fear raises his deceptive head, smiles wickedly at me then privately shuns me. One particular Wednesday night when I should have been writing but because fear had already made an appearance, I was sitting in front of the television zoned out. Channel surfing. Wasting away the creativity that burns within my soul.  I happened to stop on the premier episode of American Idol. Staring at hopeful talents audition before “seasoned professionals” struck a chord (no pun intended) in me and although I was no AI virgin, something was different as I began to think of myself as one of the contestants. Maybe I am slightly delusional or a bit narcissistic in my thinking,  that I’m good enough to venture out on new waters by starting this blog. Like some AI contestants, maybe my talent would not be so apparent to “seasoned professionals” and I would never earn the golden ticket to Hollywood (ie be apart of the fashion elite). Watching the contestants break down emotionally, seeing them melt utterly in rejection, I imagine my inner fashion editor/budding author scurry and cower into the corner of my bedroom as negative thoughts wrap around me like a poisonous python ready to inject me with disbelief. I’m not good enough. It isn’t going to work. I will fail. But the most beautiful thing happened amidst the broken chords of failure seeping through my walls, instead of allow defeat to conquer me,  I jumped into action pulling out my laptop and began to write. And silenced that inner critical voice in my head. If hopeful talents could bravely face a panel of the best of the best in their field, stand tall and take the shot, well why can’t I do the same? It takes tremendous courage to pursue your heart’s desire, to believe in yourself. And faith to simply pursue your passion.  A dreamer can’t sleep forever; at some point you have to wake up, take in the moment, stand before the panel and take your best shot.  This is my AI moment.