I have a secret.

I’m a nerd.

No, no! Don’t be so quick to refute my claim, as I’m sure you are refuting vehemently.

When you look at me there are things you see on the outside that seemingly give a pretty clear impression of who I am on the inside.  When I present myself to the world I want people to feel comfortable and open in my company.  So I wrap my personality around me like a warm coat and suddenly the introspective, almost shy me becomes boisterous and witty and quick with a joke.  Once I have people laughing I feel safe – I know that introverted Katie can stay hidden and let the comedian take the reigns.  In these moments I love to be noticed, I don’t wonder if people are looking at me and thinking I’m beautiful because I feel it in myself and  I relish being the center of attention. In these moments I am the outward definition of confidence. I’m not presenting a false self to the world, just an extroverted version of myself that only gets to come out and play on special occasions.

When I put “spotlight-me” back in my pocket I reach a point of pure comfort.  There is no show, no protective coat.  This is secret me — the me that people meet once they climb over my protective barriers.  This me is private, special. This me doesn’t care about my hair, or make-up or wearing flattering clothes or tossing around witty banter.  This one is quiet and cares passionately about how other people are feeling. This one wants to see past the down-filled coats of personality worn by those around me and see into their truth.

The secret me is in love with language.  I find it miraculous that a string of words placed in the correct order can evoke deep and resonating feelings from a reader.  I don’t read books, I consume them, craving well-written sentences like others crave chocolate or alcohol or nicotine.  I know that this piece of me is nerdy, a touch reclusive and sometimes quite irritating (I’ll correct your grammar and your spelling.) I am in the middle of a book that is written so beautifully it simultaneously makes me want to cry and causes my mind to wander with inspiration for my own writing…which means I have to re-read entire pages lost through daydreaming but I don’t want to miss a single, delectable description. It is insane. Not everyone wants to meet this version of me.  But that’s okay. I find no shame in this version of myself. I am actually rather proud of my linguistic proclivities…but also understand it doesn’t mean anyone else wants to sit around and discuss the intricacies of the onomatopoeia.

So, it’s out. I am a proud, full-fledged, card-carrying nerd.  I laugh at inappropriate jokes and watch movies on the family channel. I’ve read the Harry Potter series four times and Twilight series twice. If I ever lost any of my hundreds of books I would mourn them with sincere emotion. When I write I use music in order to alter my mood to match my subject matter and a lot of the music in my playlist would not earn me a nomination for awesomeness. I am not hip. I am definitely not cool. I am quirky and weird and a little odd.  And I am more comfortable and confident as a nerd than I am when wrapped in my personality coat.

What’s the point?  Confidence doesn’t come in a specific package.  Some days make it impossible to radiate confidence: when you’re knee deep in diapers and hissy fits and to-do lists feeling good about yourself can get lodged between a balled-up size 5 huggie and that laundry you’ve been meaning to do all week.  When that moment hits think of your secret confidence and draw from that your strength to get through the day.  Because you, and I, am awesome in all our individuality.

And if you ever feel like talking about onomatopoeia, I’m available.