How I Stopped Caring What Other People Think

I walk the world, head held high. I wear the flowy skater skirts that make me feel like the main character. The crop tops that fashion “experts” would say I’m too fat for, but make me feel fun and vibrant. I laugh with abandon. I smile at strangers. I feel powerful. But I didn’t always float through life on a cloud of self-confidence. It’s a journey, and here’s how I got there.

I realized that no one’s focusing on me as much as I am.

I walk through the grocery store, tugging my top down as the hem rides up with every step. I worry that people are seeing a sliver of my stomach and laughing. And then I realize that no one cares. Everyone is so caught up in themselves–myself and my tummy included–that they’re not seeing the people around them. The vast majority of people are focused inward, on their own worries and flaws, not outward. I’m the only one who cares about whatever perceived flaw I’m currently focused on.

I realized how inconsequential things are.

Do all those little things matter? Does it matter if my laugh is annoying or if my pink hair might make some guys less attracted to me? That I don’t “act my age”–whatever that means? There are so many more things that take precedence. My comfort with myself. My carefree happiness. The smiles on the faces of the people I care about. The animals I see on my walks through the woods–me talking to the squirrels and birds as if we’re old friends catching up after years apart. Those little happy moments are worth far more than what a rando might think about all the little ways I live my life.

I gave myself permission to be the voice that matters.

There are people that flit into my life for a moment before fading back out of it again. They’re the people in line behind me at the grocery store as I buy a bag of gummy candy. They’re the ones who squeeze past me at the bookstore while I find a new rom-com to binge. Past me would have worried what they thought of my purchases. I would have worried about the space that I took up.

But then I remembered their fleeting nature. They’re gone in an instant. And even people who have a more permanent fixture in my life will never be with me as long as the person whose opinion truly matters: Me. I’m with myself through all of it, and it’s my opinion that should solely guide me. Not the opinion filtered through the lens of other people’s judgement, but spread wide by my bubbling love for all that I am.

I decided not to give my heart to people who wish to crush it.

Like everyone else, I deserve care. I deserve to feel good, to be happy, in whatever way my heart wants it to manifest. I refuse to give that power to people who wish to dim my light. So I disregard the dirty looks I get as I strut to the beach in a bikini. I dismiss someone’s dislike of me as unfortunate bad taste. And I move on.

I decided to care what people think when it matters–and it almost never does.

It’s foolish to never care what other people think. I reserve my apathy for those who don’t have my best interests in mind, who don’t know me, who just wish to hurt me. Because most of it is meaningless. Then there are the people who matter. The people who love me. And sometimes what they have to say is important. So I keep my heart open, just in case there are hard truths that a more stubborn version of myself refuses to hear. Even then, I look, I listen, and I decide if this outside view of myself matters to me. Because it almost never does.