What Happened When I Stopped Taking Myself So Seriously

Believe it or not, there was a time in my life where I took myself seriously. Well, kind of. The attitude I exuded was that I took myself seriously, even if I had a more playful side that I tried to keep under lock and key to avoid severe public embarrassment. This seems rich coming from the girl who splatters her embarrassing moments all over Instagram and will admit to just about anything on Twitter or to my friends that didn't manage to witness the hilarity in person. One minor embarrassing moment a few years ago would've sent me into a downward tailspin in which I would want to hide away for days and assume people would laugh at my expense. Now? I just want to laugh it off and make sure others can laugh with me. Just call me Francesca the town jester!

Even though I'm the type of person to dance and sing in public, there was a time where this was a ludicrous (LUDAAAA) idea to me. I just assumed a more serious persona for first, second, and third impressions just to assure that nobody would be, uh, off-put by my antics. I have the tendency to come on a little too strong at times because I talk fast and mumble and tend to just say bizarre things that sometimes only I might think are funny. My sense of humor is a little warped and I also have this bad habit of thinking I'm about eleven times funnier than I actually am. I'm all about supporting yourself on the things that you're passionate about or good at, but humor might not actually be my strong suit and it is the only area of my life in which I exclude male confidence (ladies, you all know what I'm talking about).

Who am I to stop myself from still trying to be funny though? It's much easier to leave it all out there for people to see, love it or hate it. My less serious side might be, uh, a little less put together, a little more vulgar, and much more likely to laugh at 75% of my own jokes, but at least then I'll have a personality beyond a smile and nod and an occasional one-liner to prove that I'm still breathing.

I was a shy kid. Hell, I was a shy young adult. Sometimes I'm still shy now! If you've seen my sober karaoke videos, I'm sure this would come as a shock to you. This post really isn't about how I went from a shy child whose teachers were concerned because she never really spoke in class ever to the kind of girl who will literally sing and dance in the middle of her office and most likely disrupt the entire workday for everyone at their desks. It's more just about how my fear of what everyone else would think finally dissipated–to some degree–so I didn't have to hide a piece of myself. It's no fun playing pretend in your everyday life. I'm not very good at acting, but my performance as a teenager who took herself way too seriously was at least Kids' Choice Award worthy. For, you know, the lowest tier of awards they give. I feel like they have a consolation prize, some sort of miniature orange blimp to give to the chumps.

I didn't really break out of my shell. I more tumbled out by accident after slowly pecking away at the shell for years while also still ensuring that I was still semi-contained just in case I had to go back in after severe public embarrassment (why was I so terrified of public embarrassment? I'm not a celebrity, nobody cares about what I do or what happens to me). I had a teacher in high school refer to me as stoic, which for someone as dramatic and emotional as me, was rich. But I suppose my outward persona was pretty stoic. I mean, there are still aspects of my life today where I think I'm a little stoic or maybe still pretend to be because I'm used to it at this point. But full-on stoic? I have feelings! I just have a resting bitch face, I can't help it!

In his defense, I was a little stoic in public, but it was to save face. What sixteen and seventeen year old needs to save face? I was always mature for my age, but not allowing myself a period to make a fool out of my self (though in retrospect, I was always making a fool out of myself, I just didn't realize it) was, well, pretty stupid of me. I suppose that's all in the past now though. I grew out of that period of my life and evolved into somebody who, for lack of better terms, just doesn't give a shit anymore. I tell everyone–literally everyone, if you've come in contact with me over the course of the past four years I've probably repeated this so many times that it has become your own personal drinking game–that if somebody cares about something that you're doing or wearing or listening to that isn't harming anyone, then who gives a shit? If they care, they should care about something else and that's on them, not you.

That's my mantra now. And fake it 'til you make it, but that's another story for another time!