I debated whether I should I share my good news. After all, no one likes it when someone talks boastfully about their own accomplishments. As a young girl I was often admonished not to be too full of myself, not to show-off, or take up too much space. Always the goal was to be selfless.
I read these words from Glennon Doyle from her book Untamed, and reconsidered the lessons I’d learned.
”When women lose themselves, the world loses its way. We do not need more selfless women. What we need right now is more women who have detoxed themselves so completely from the world’s expectations that they are full of nothing but themselves. What we need are women who are full of themselves. A woman who is full of herself knows and trusts herself enough to say and do what must be done.”
On July 11, I received the beautiful message congratulating me that two of my photographs were chosen for the SlowExpsoures 2023 show. I was overjoyed, and my first reaction was childlike glee. I mean the jumping up and down, hugging my husband, high-fiving kind of happiness. And then after that few glorious moments of joy, the spiral of self-doubt and worry set in. Had there been some mistake? Did my work really belong in this show? Was I good enough? And if the work was judged as worthy, then surely, I must be modest about it. It would be wrong to feel pride. It would be better to feel gratitude.
I’ve been working hard, getting ready for the show. Arranging for the photographs to be printed, framed and shipped to Zebulon, Georgia by the September 8th deadline. We decided to make the trip to participate in the SlowExposures show because we promised ourselves that if I got in, we would. We do not travel often so this is a big undertaking for us. But we’ve booked hotel rooms and planned our route for the show, September 14 – 17. Since we’d decided to make the trip, I submitted another set of 5 photographs from a new project I’m working on for a portfolio review. And I’m delighted to say that my project was accepted for review. This means a lot of work. Selecting and printing 15-20 photographs that represent a cohesive body of work, researching the reviewers, preparing a short statement of what the work is about and setting goals for what I’d like to get out of the review. The whole process is kind of intimidating, but I’ve committed to moving forward. There is no turning back.
As I work, I’ve sat with my feelings and realized that not sharing my good news hurts not only me, but my friends and family, too. If I keep perpetuating the myth that it is honorable for a woman to hide herself and her talents, how will we ever disrupt this notion that women are not entitled to be strong and confident, to take their rightful place in the world? If my husband had received this honor, he would celebrate and tell everyone he knows! How is it that I feel as though I have to write a treatise to even claim this honor?
"Girls and women sense this. We want to be liked. We want to be trusted. So we downplay our strengths to avoid threatening anyone and invoking disdain. We do not mention our accomplishments. We do not accept compliments. We temper, qualify, and discount our opinions. We walk without swagger, and we yield incessantly. We step out of the way. We say, ‘I feel like’ instead of ‘I know.’ We ask if our ideas make sense instead of assuming they do. We apologize for. . . everything. Conversations among brilliant women often devolve into competitions for who wins the trophy for hottest mess. We want to be respected, but we want to be loved and accepted even more.” —Glennon Doyle, Untamed
These truths make it hard to share good news. Hard to be proud of the work that is mine. Hard to celebrate. But I’m coming to understand the difference between modesty and humility.
"To be humble is to be grounded in knowing who you are. It implies the responsibility to become what you were meant to be—to grow, to reach, to fully bloom as high and strong and grand as you were created to do.” —Glennon Doyle, Untamed
The sun is shining today and there is a breeze building for an afternoon thunderstorm. I am sitting on the front porch, finishing the last pages of a really good book, thinking about pictures and all that they mean.
