The challenge of practicing my smile came from a friend who specializes in media training. As a marketing consultant, I often find myself presenting and speaking publicly. Although I had conquered my nerves long ago, they seemed to creep back in recently. So, I reached out for some guidance, and at the end of our first session, she said, “You really need to smile more!”
Hearing this felt like a jab. Back in my youth in Los Angeles, I was far more annoyed by men on the street telling me to smile than I was by their more suggestive comments. The phrase “C’mon, give us a smile” felt like a personal indictment, as if they were saying, “I see you—your unhappy self.”
In those days, dressed in my carefully chosen outfit of just the right jeans and bohemian blouse, I thought I had everyone fooled. But those men scrutinizing me burst my bubble of false confidence; I felt as if I had sticky candy clinging to my face. Deep down, I wasn’t content, and these onlookers not only recognized my struggle but shouted it out loud.
The reasons behind my discontent were typical for a teenager. I often compared my life to others: an alcoholic father versus the ideal suburban family, or my red hair and pale skin in a California town full of bronzed blondes. But everyone has their own struggles; my friends with their perfect station wagons and sun-kissed skin had their own battles. I realize now that many people feel like they missed the day when the manual for life was handed out. My teens and early 20s were spent trying to hide my insecurities. When someone told me to smile, I heard instead, “There’s something wrong with you, and everyone can see it.”
This assessment was, of course, my own—not the catcaller’s. I thought if I could just uncover my flaws, smiling would come easily. It took years—college, moving to New York City, landing my dream job only to be fired, years of therapy and personal growth, and a tumultuous relationship that led me back to LA, bruised but resilient—before I began to feel comfortable in my own skin. Around the age of 27, it dawned on me that I was no longer hiding my true self. What I once saw as a flaw—my red hair—became my trademark. My sensitivity, which had made me shy and prone to hurt, turned out to be a gift: a knack for understanding others’ feelings, which has served me well as a writer and communications expert.
Yet, when my media trainer friend suggested I smile more, I was reminded of those turbulent years. I pondered if, despite coming to terms with my past and valuing my growth, that insecure girl still lingered beneath the surface. Was my friend asking me to conceal her with a smile, just as so many men seemed to want?
As it turns out, she wanted me to reveal myself. “You know your material,” she said. “With a smile, you become the driver of your message, inviting your audience in.” She shared research that proves smiling can improve your mood. “Smiling,” she advised, “will help you relax. Practice it until it feels natural, even when you’re tired.”
I’m still working on making smiling a reflex, but I’ve noticed that when I simply lift the corners of my mouth, my shoulders relax. It’s a bit like the age-old chicken-and-egg debate; while I smile when I’m happy, the act of smiling also boosts my mood. Smiling can be tough to resist, which might explain why Tara Brach incorporates it into her guided meditations. In one of my favorites, she suggests, “You might sense that you can smile into the eyes. A slight smile at the mouth. Imagine and sense a smile spreading through the heart. Not to cover over anything, but to make room for what’s here.”
Making room for what’s present.
It’s taken me a long time to create space for myself, both inside and out. Now, when I address an audience, that smile transforms everything. I stop worrying about putting on a show and instead focus on sharing my knowledge. And when I walk down the street, I embrace my stride—the curve of my waist and the contour of my backside. No longer do I need to check my reflection in passing windows for reassurance.
Recently, while heading to a meeting in New York City, I navigated a puddle in my high heels when a young man approached. “Hey, Beautiful,” he said, his eyes wide as I walked by, a subtle smile on my lips. With over 40 years behind me, it turns out I’m not as invisible as society suggests women my age should be. But that smile wasn’t for him—it was for me.
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Summary
In a journey from insecurity to self-acceptance, Mia Thompson shares her thoughts on the power of a smile. Initially challenged by the notion that she needed to smile more, she reflects on her past struggles and how they shaped her perception. Through growth and resilience, she learns that smiling isn’t merely an act of masking but a way to express and connect. The article concludes by encouraging readers to embrace their true selves and explore resources related to home insemination and fertility.