Defining Word: Confidence

con·​fi·​dence—a state of mind or a manner marked by easy coolness and freedom from embarrassment.

1. My four-year-old daughter appears in the doorway donning a blue Cinderella dress, complete with tiny plastic high heels. She approaches the mirrored closet door to admire herself top to bottom. Her body sways back and forth, as she touches the sparkly fabric at her waist. Looking at her reflection with genuine admiration, she smiles. “Wow,” she says softly, “I look beautiful.”

2. I am helping a friend start a Substack. Our conversation begins with technology challenges, but eventually moves to deeper creative blocks. She finally admits, “I am realizing I am scared to associate the word writer with myself—in any kind of public way.”

3. The first time I call myself a writer without choking on the word, I am sitting at an airport on the other side of the country, talking to a nine-year-old girl I will never see again. 

4. A high school boyfriend walked inside my house once wearing sunglasses. He picked me up in a huge blue truck, which he drove like a complete maniac. I remember very little from our short-lived romance, but I do remember his confidence is what initially attracted me to him. My teenage self did not yet realize how quickly confidence could slide into arrogance. When we broke up, my dad walked into my bedroom and handed me $100 cash. He claimed the two things were unrelated, but I knew better.

5. One afternoon, I find Everett reading a story he wrote two years ago. I can’t believe I wrote this, he tells me. I assume he’s being self-deprecating, viewing his older work the same way I view mine—with a tinge of horror and embarrassment. But later at dinner during a game of High Low Buffalo, he clarifies: reading that old story was the highlight of his day. He couldn’t believe how good it was.

6. I’m standing in the bathroom applying mascara to my lashes, mentally rehearsing my talking points for a podcast interview I am about to record. I check the clock to make sure I’m good on time, and pop open my email app for a quick scan while I brush my teeth. It’s the first message I see, sitting at the top of my inbox. A forwarded note from my publicist from the woman I am supposed to be talking to in less than an hour. Unfortunately, I need to cancel my interview with Ashlee. In my final preparation after completing the book, I have come to the conclusion that my podcast and audience are not the best fit. My publicist and I debrief. There was no reason given. Was it the faith component? We shrug and speculate. I tell her I’m fine. But I obsess over this rejection for the rest of the day, completely rattled, wondering who else is going to hate this thing I have poured two years of my life into. 

7. Out of all three children, Carson is most like me. He’s got my green eyes, and is most often found lounging around the house with a book. He wakes up naturally at 6am, gets himself ready for the day with zero prompting. He’s independent, self-motivated, and works hard at everything he does. One day I spot him drawing a comic book at the dining room table, and stop to admire it. “You’re a good artist,” I tell him. Without looking up or missing a beat, he says, “I’m not as good as Everett.” I wince. For this, too, he gets from me. 

8. At the start of 2023, I make light of choosing a word for the year, insisting there are too many words I love, too many words I want, too many beautiful and poignant options on the table. Even so, in the weeks that follow, two distinct words rise above the rest, hovering near the forefront of my mind each day: peace and confidence. I try to shake them away, to no avail. I finally bring them to my spiritual director. Has God put “peace” and “confidence” in my head for a reason? I ask. They seem like opposites. She smiles and suggests we find the connection. We sit quietly for a few minutes. She asks what I am thinking. I tell her I’m thinking confidence only comes from inner peace. And inner peace only comes from God. Confidence is an outward expression of a settled heart, a secure identity. She nods and asks in a soft voice, “Maybe you could turn these two words into a breath prayer?”

9. I’m on a Zoom call with a handful of fellow authors, all of us represented by the same literary agent. We’re talking shop, asking questions, processing struggles in a safe circle of solidarity. Someone brings up the idea of being misunderstood. How do you handle the criticism? How do you … keep going? We all lean toward the screen a bit closer, waiting for someone, anyone, to offer The Answer. One author shares a bit of wisdom given to him: don’t let the praise go to your head, and don’t let the criticism go to your heart.

10. I write my breath prayer on a Post-It and tape it to the wall above my desk as a mantra. For the podcast interviews that go swimmingly well, and for the ones that don’t even happen at all. For the impending praise, the forthcoming criticism, and everything in between.
    Inhale peace. Exhale confidence.
    Inhale peace. Exhale confidence.
    Inhale peace. Exhale confidence.

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This post was inspired by Textbook by Amy Krouse Rosenthal, written as part of a writing workshop I co-lead with Katie Blackburn (sign up here to get on the waitlist!). Read Katie’s take on this prompt here.

P.S. My new book, Create Anyway: the Joy of Pursuing Creativity in the Margins of Motherhood is available for pre-order now, wherever books are sold ❤️