34
e a r ly in my career, an interviewer
asked, “Where do you find your con-
fidence? A colleague of yours said
that it’s out of this world and you’re
either an alien or you have no idea
what you look like.” I don’t remember
my response, but I do remember fin-
ishing the interview crying and hop-
ing no one noticed they were tears of
devastation, not joy.
After that embarrassing exchange,
my mom wanted to know why I hadn’t
told the reporter I got my confidence
from her. Look, my mom is great.
She’s super fun and interesting, and
she loves me as best as she can. But
she did not give me confidence. She
has hurt me many times in my life—as
many times as I’ve hurt her, I’m sure.
So I won’t be giving her or anyone else
credit for the confidence I’ve achieved.
My brand of confidence is per-
sonal. It involves shutting out all the
hurtful things people have said
about—and to—me. That includes
things said by my family. What I’ve
learned, though, is that hurtful words
aren’t the only threat to my sanity.
Positive feedback wrecks me too.
Last May, I had weight-loss sur-
gery, and I’ve been losing weightON MY MIND
The Oscar-nominated actress explains
how she guards her self-esteem
from intrusive comments on a daily basis.ever since. The people in my life who
love me are all proud, and that’s fine.
But strangers who have noticed the
metamorphosis on my show, Empire,
just assume I finally got myself a
mirror and decided to get healthy.
They comment on Twitter and
Instagram about how good I finally
look. They say things like, “I always
thought you were beautiful, but
you’re even more beautiful now.” And
when they see me on the street, they
say things like, “Damn! How much
weight did you lose?” and “Girl, you
look good! But don’t lose too much!
Your face is starting to sink in!”
The comments are meant to bol-
ster my self-confidence, but instead,
they make me want to hide in a piece
of cake or dive into a pool of ice
cream—to be anywhere but with
strangers who think it’s appropriate
to share their opinions about my
body. I don’t yet know why those
comments make me want to reverse
all the work I’ve done, but I know I’m
still in the middle of my body strug-
gles. This is not the beginning and
definitely not the end. If I were bat-
tling drugs, alcohol, mental illness, or
cancer, people would be carefulabout what they say to me. I’m not
sure why my changing body is an
invitation to discuss food, pounds,
workouts, or how you can “finally see”
my face now that it’s thinner. I actu-
ally don’t want to talk about it. I have
to block out those “compliments” just
as I block out negative comments,
since they are just as dangerous.
So no, I’m not an alien. And my
confidence isn’t made from a magic
potion nor is it anything other people
can give me. It is something I wall
myself inside with no door, and
everyone else must stand outside it.
My confidence is a safe haven—a
tower just big enough for me alone.
Harsh words, compliments,
disappointment, and embarrassment
come at me like wrecking balls, and
when they do, the bricks start to
crumble and I have to rebuild. In an
attempt to discover what makes my
walls strong, people chip away at the
bedrock and compromise the
foundation. Still, I stay steadfast at
rebuilding even as they keep trying
to demolish it. It’s not magic. It’s not
out of this world. My confidence
is nothing if not persistent. ■Each month, Cosmo lets one passionate voice sound off.
C an We
Not Talk
About
My Body?
KEENON PERRY, PLETHORA MEDIA GROUPBY GABOUREY SIDIBECHECK OUT
GABBY’S NEW
BOOK THIS IS
JUST MY FACE:
TRY NOT
TO STARE.