The Vulnerable Selfie

Confronting ourselves one wrinkle at a time

In a room of forty people, I did something I’ve never done. I pulled out my iPhone and took a selfie, alone. Last week, at our Second Brain Summit in downtown Los Angeles, I was in a group journaling session led by future A-list celebrity Jo Franco when she asked us to take a selfie and journal about what’s unsaid in the photo. I froze, thinking “¿En serio? An all by myself, selfie?”

I have no selfies online. The only people who have seen a selfie of me are my sisters after I get a haircut, where I capture the 24 hours my hair looks amazing before I can’t get it blow dried to look the same. I often judge people’s selfies, but all judgments are a reflection of our self-criticism: judgments reveal what we need to understand about ourselves or highlight what we deny ourselves. I’m judgy of people who post selfies because I don’t allow myself to be seen this way. Even when I’m feeling myself and try taking a selfie, I worry people will think, “Who does she think she is?”

I stared at this photo and felt judged about my appearance: my wrinkles, my hair breaking away from the products in it. As I journaled, I moved from judgment to recognizing my discomfort with seeing myself. I had written an intention for the event, “To let people see the real me and for me to see people.”

I cried realizing I am the one stopping myself from being seen. I hide. I’m afraid to see myself. My judgement of selfies being vain shifted to a story of selfies being vulnerable.

I’m starting to dislike my reflection now that I’m in my late 30s. The longer I stared at my selfie, the more I saw the Lauren others see, rather than the one the Inner Critic sees. The Lauren who is scared but takes action anyway. The Lauren willing to dig deeper to find her truth and uncover her potential. The unstoppable Lauren like goddess Circe who can walk into the depths of the ocean to give herself up to a demon to save others. The bad bitch Lauren whose fierceness rages into enabling others to succeed. The Lauren who can sit with people in their deepest grief and despair with grace. The MILF Lauren.

I must see my ugliness to see my beauty. But because I’m afraid to see the ugly, I avoid looking at myself altogether, missing the beauty. There’s a parallel to my healing work in therapy and somatic practices: when we avoid stuff because of shame or pain, we can’t see the goodness or gifts those moments give us.

After the exercise, a speaker chatted with me about my fear of writing a book. She said people want to hear from me. She compared my journey with Helene Godin’s story about leaving her corporate career to open a bakery. Helene was afraid to move into entrepreneurship, even with Seth Godin, one of the world’s top marketers, as her husband. She asked how I could be afraid with such a supportive community and lessons from Tiago. I told her I avoid using Tiago’s contacts and help. He suggests talking to his book agent, but I feel I’m not “big time” enough. My fear is about being seen, rejected, judged, or seen as a “Nepo-wifey.” The selfie exercise softened me, and I let in her comments, crying with gratitude.

During the two-day event, many people thanked me for my work, presence, authenticity, and courage. Instead of brushing off their compliments, I took in every comment and let it hit my heart. I had to stop wearing mascara because my eyes burned from tears. Hearing from people about my impact made me realize I need to write more.

So here I am recommitting to a biweekly newsletter, unfolding in real-time.