The Second Choice

By Sophia Romano

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Maybe it's because of the way I talk or look, or it’s truly my own deep-seated issues, or it’s some other reason that’ll always be two steps ahead of me— but there has been a feeling that has haunted me for quite some time now.

For as long as I can remember, I have felt that I was on the outside looking in toward everyone else. I always had a hard time making friends. Socializing in general. I remember moving to the town that I’d grow up in for the next decade, and looking at the other little girls and boys I was expected to play with with hesitation. The environment that I grew up learning to socialize with my peers in could be harsh, and I didn’t have thick enough skin (nor well-connected parents in the community) to withstand it, at first. No one was terribly cruel to me, insofar as I could remember or notice. Yet I still felt out of place.

The feelings of being out of place, of not being accepted or liked, were the early buds of insecurity beginning to sprout in me. I know that now, but back then I simply assumed something was wrong with me in particular—the conclusion that I believe all perfectly fine young women come to at some point in their lives. 

I thought it was something to do with the way I looked. It took a while for me to feel comfortable and confident with my physical features, let alone grow into them. I would always wear the most depressing and ill-fitting clothes that in no way expressed who I was. I thought my voice sounded weird, but that it sounded even weirder when talking about movies nobody had seen or music nobody but our parents liked. I thought it could even be my general energy—could my peers pick up on the fact that I was feeling like such an angsty outcast? Or even that I was having a hard time at home– that I had no idea what I was doing?

In all likelihood, my peers growing up could probably pick up on the deep insecurity that sat in my ribcage at all times. I was unsure of essentially every step I took, trying desperately to both stand out by just being myself while avoiding any infamous attention for being the weird “other.” In reality, I think I blended into the background just fine, from which feeling like the “second choice” was born. 

Anyone who has felt like the second choice knows that it needs little description. For those more fortunate: yes, it is the root of that terrible “always the bridesmaid, never the bride” sentiment. It’s feeling left out when there isn’t enough room at the table or in the car. It’s literally being the last one to get picked for a group or team. It is being the one others can rely on when no one else is answering the phone. It’s being the backup for your crush. It’s getting the begrudged invite when the plans accidentally get revealed in front of you. It’s being the afterthought— the person people forget is there. The second choice.

While I contend that insecurity plays a role, feeling like the second choice doesn’t just manifest out of nothing. There are countless things people do, intentional and unintentional, that cause one to feel so insignificant. 

It’s the little things. Isn’t it always? A guy blocking you with his entire body at the bar because you’re not the woman he’s pursuing, therefore your existence at the moment is neither here nor there. Or having so little to say that the driver completely forgets about you existing in their backseat, which they’ll loudly laugh about for at least one excruciatingly long minute. Attempts to make plans or even just lighthearted conversation can go unanswered for days on end when you’re the second choice. But if you’re the second choice and lucky, your bids for attention will receive acknowledgment within an undisclosed period of time, just to keep you in the rolodex of society should anyone more desirable fail to come through. That’ll do wonders for your self esteem!

I hate to get so cynical. While certain thoughts and assumptions about others are unavoidable for the insecurely-wired brain, it should in no way be an excuse to treat anyone with contempt. Though admittedly, it can be hard looking at others with kindness after having been hurt or made to feel less than one too many times. 

So what do I do, you ask? I’m glad you asked.

When I realized early on that I wasn't going to fit in despite (or even due to) being myself, I stopped trying. I let go of the false friendships that I clung to for some sense of social security in high school. I deleted a majority of my social media that tethered me to any social scene to begin with. Then, the pandemic. The pandemic successfully broke many social conventions of the highschool-upperclassman experience, and I was finally free to fade fully away from an environment I thought to be nothing but cold and close-minded.

But of course, pushing people away is never the answer. I knew that to some degree then; I focused on friendships with people who saw me for me, and remembered that quality is always over quantity. But even then, insecure feelings of mine persisted because I was yet to ever really address them. I just removed the source of any trouble or grief and faded into obscurity. I call that the easy route out, despite how agonizingly lonely it can be.

Addressing my insecurities became unavoidable once I recognized the way I projected them onto others. I hated thinking so ill of my friends. Once I met truly genuine, cool and kind people in college, it became increasingly harder to be so cold and closed off. There was no longer any need to.

I feel beyond lucky for the people I’ve met and get to call my friends. They’re authentically themselves and likely cherish my authenticity just the same. Feeling insecure or cynical about them feels like a crime. I hate it, but the brain tends to come up with some undesirable and downright negative thoughts sometimes. At least mine does.

Socializing is still difficult for me at times. Irritation when someone isn’t being themselves aside, I tend to be wary still of my peer’s motivations and/or true feelings toward me. I think it’s important to let go of worrying about what others think of you, no matter how many times you have to reiterate that message. Whatsmore, therapy has healed a great deal of my insecurity, my self esteem, and my general outlook on life and the people I share mine with. It's hard work, but it's possible to rewire your brain and ignore the nagging thoughts. What helped me was near constant reminders and affirmations; sticky notes around my room telling me the things I needed to hear, and just by thinking them I would feel my disposition rise. 

One sticky note went like this: “There are people that love and care for me! They want me happy, healthy, and here. They’ll help me if I ask! They value me as much as I value them. They don’t believe the negative things I believe about myself. I’ll be okay!”

I write this, like almost all things, for the chance that someone else who may feel the same may also feel heard. Surround yourself with only loving, caring, and genuine people, as best as you can. People who will not judge your authenticity. Then, be that loving, caring, genuine person too. Become secure with who you are. I know it’s easier said than done, and I know that nowadays, it takes certain perseverance. But the effort is worth it—in the end, you’re far better off than those who refuse to look inward at the false personhood they’ve created nor outward at the false friends who’d drop them at a moment’s notice for the next, cooler fad.
The world is full of people who will choose and accept you for you. You’ve just got to find them.