Over the weekend, I had some phenomenal conversations with my friends — the kind of discussions that are few and far between, but always leave me craving for such stimulation more often. Perhaps it is the end-of-college twinge many of us are experiencing, but instead of the usual happy swirls of conversation, most of my heart-to-hearts focused on our hopes and dreams in respect to our shortcomings.

These conversations were revealing; they reminded me that everyone has a cross to bear. We often look at our friends and classmates and think, quite inaccurately, that their lives compared to ours are golden, that they have it all under control and are consistently delighted.

We know that’s not true. While we may only know of our closest of friends’ battles, it is safe to say the majority of us are burdened. It would be unrealistic to think otherwise.

I recently shared the issue weighing heaviest on me, to the shock of one of my dear friends. Her amazement over my private insecurities amazed me. Obviously, I have issues — there is no way I’m fooling anyone. Especially compared to my award-winning, sports-writing counterpart Andrei Greska, I am surely the most flustered columnist on the Tribune’s staff.

Still, it occurs to me that my loyal readers might think I am unburdened by everyday problems. In this penultimate column, I feel it necessary to admit about which I feel most incompetent.

For instance, I’m absolutely awful at picturing myself in outfits. In my mind, I am 5-foot-10-inch, with slender legs not unlike Julia Roberts’. This makes envisioning myself in wardrobes virtually impossible, as I am — in reality — a 5-foot-3-inch, little chunker of a gal. Without the help of a mirror and my honest roommates, I would leave the house looking ridiculous daily.

Other girl-related issues also plague me: How to eat without looking disgusting; how to put on make-up without looking like I got in a fight with my eye-liner; where to put my arms when cuddling.

I also am rotten at socializing when there is any form of media in front of me. Having a conversation at a bar with a television is actually impossible. Trying to make small talk at the Brew with my computer open becomes a huge mental strain. And texting while doing anything else — including walking — is very problematic.

For someone who is about to become an elementary school teacher, my grade-school level math skills could use significant polishing. I tried to do a single long division problem for at least half an hour the other day, to no avail. It’s to the point that I am actually considering installing Math Blaster on my laptop — as a 20-something.

I procrastinate. My room is always a mess. The only sport I succeed in is bowling. Figuring out what to eat at a restaurant causes me great distress. I can only make a few delicious meals. I look like an injured polar bear when I run. My stories are often long-winded and my ankles are incredibly feeble.

None of these are disasters. I will be able to survive alone next year — despite my constant worries about it.

I think it is important to acknowledge our disadvantages as realistically as possible, and to stop comparing our worst traits to others’ best traits. For instance, just because I cannot belt out karaoke as well as my friends on a Thursday night at the Ale House does not mean I should give up my amateur microphone. I should just stop singing Whitney Houston songs, and begin singing songs with more appropriate vocals.

So, thank you, dear friends, for listening to me belt out my incompetency boldly. Thanks for offering me hugs when I need them and smiles when I don’t deserve them. And thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt that I have it all together. In return, know that I think the same of all of you.