When you think of the words, "pretty girl," my face won't be what comes to your mind. I'm not the one you'll pick out of a crowd, and I'm not the girl you'll fall in love with at first sight. I'm not the girl with blue eyes as deep as the ocean who will make you so weak at the knees that you feel like suddenly there's no such thing as gravity.
A few weeks ago, my boyfriend dumped me and moved right along to another girl. Which, at the time, hurt more than most anything I'd ever experienced before. It hurt for a lot of reasons, but mostly because I'm someone who consistently struggles a great deal with things like self-esteem, confidence and self-respect.
When boys come into the picture, girls tend to get pretty competitive with one another. For whatever reason, when boys are involved, girls feel like they have to be the prettiest. Sometimes it's because they want the attention, sometimes it's because they're jealous and what attention from the boy that another girl is with, and I think sometimes it's just because they want to see how far their looks can carry them.
I have never, in my entire life, understood that kind of typical female mentality. So I'm going to take you back in time a little bit, to a time when the whole, "girl, you've gotta be on your A game to be good enough," bullshit idea almost got the best of me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first time I remember really starting to have difficulty with self-esteem was when I got my school picture back in third grade. I looked at it for a long time, studying my own face. I hated almost everything about it. I hated the way one of my eyes was just a little bit smaller than the other, and I couldn't stand the way the gap between my two front teeth looked. When I caught glimpses of the other kids' pictures, I saw smiles with no gaps between the front teeth. I saw perfect, deep-set eyes that I swear could've spoken for themselves. I saw people I wished I could be.
In elementary school, when we would get our school pictures back, they came in packets with all different sizes of the picture in them. A lot of them were little wallet-sized photos. That day, I vividly remember the other kids laughing and trading their wallet-sized photos with each other- all while I stuffed my packet into my backpack as fast as I could and signed a pass to go to the bathroom so I could be alone.
Anything and everything that happened after that pass was signed is a blur now. I don't remember any of the rest of that school day. When I got home, I was reluctant to even show my parents the pictures. As I handed the packet to my mom, I told her to be sure not to buy any of them. When she asked me why, I couldn't lie to her.
"I hate them," I said. "Look at the stupid gap between my front teeth. It makes me look like an idiot."
After looking at the pictures, looking up at me, and looking back down at the pictures, she smiled as she offered the cheesiest piece of motherly reassurance she could've given me.
"It doesn't make you look like an idiot," she told me. "It's cute, and it makes you different."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Different. Yeah. Sure. Different. That would've been nice to hear, but different wasn't what I wanted to be. I wanted to be just like the other kids. I wanted to not be hating myself.
Things didn't get any easier for a very long time. Middle school was three of the worst years of my life because I was, "different."
In middle school, when the guy I had a crush on sat next to me in class, being the girl with her nose stuck in books all the time and being "different" was instant death- seeing as the girl who sat on his other side was a model and had a social circle that extended far beyond my social anxiety and awkwardness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time I had made it three fourths of the way through my junior year of high school, it had really started to sink in just how different I really was. Not just because of the way that one eye was open wider than the other and because there was a gap between my front teeth, but because I was a dandelion.
I had realized I wasn't different in a way that made me any less wonderful or worth less than anyone else. I was different in the sense that I was more than enough. I was different in the sense that who I was was so much bigger, deeper, and more sincere than just what I looked like. So much more than my muddy brown eyes and gap-toothed grin could tell you. And that, to me, is so important.
Because when it comes to accepting and even loving myself, and/or being accepted and loved by others, I want that love to pull at every piece of me. I want to feel everything. I want that love to ring true with my entire essence. I'm a dandelion, remember? I want that love to rip me out of the ground, throw me back down and stomp on me so hard I have no choice but to dive right back into the soil and grow right back again.
So, to the boy who ripped me from the ground and tossed me into the gutter just to make room in your basket for the prettiest of flowers that this world garden has to offer, know this:
A few weeks ago, my boyfriend dumped me and moved right along to another girl. Which, at the time, hurt more than most anything I'd ever experienced before. It hurt for a lot of reasons, but mostly because I'm someone who consistently struggles a great deal with things like self-esteem, confidence and self-respect.
When boys come into the picture, girls tend to get pretty competitive with one another. For whatever reason, when boys are involved, girls feel like they have to be the prettiest. Sometimes it's because they want the attention, sometimes it's because they're jealous and what attention from the boy that another girl is with, and I think sometimes it's just because they want to see how far their looks can carry them.
I have never, in my entire life, understood that kind of typical female mentality. So I'm going to take you back in time a little bit, to a time when the whole, "girl, you've gotta be on your A game to be good enough," bullshit idea almost got the best of me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first time I remember really starting to have difficulty with self-esteem was when I got my school picture back in third grade. I looked at it for a long time, studying my own face. I hated almost everything about it. I hated the way one of my eyes was just a little bit smaller than the other, and I couldn't stand the way the gap between my two front teeth looked. When I caught glimpses of the other kids' pictures, I saw smiles with no gaps between the front teeth. I saw perfect, deep-set eyes that I swear could've spoken for themselves. I saw people I wished I could be.
In elementary school, when we would get our school pictures back, they came in packets with all different sizes of the picture in them. A lot of them were little wallet-sized photos. That day, I vividly remember the other kids laughing and trading their wallet-sized photos with each other- all while I stuffed my packet into my backpack as fast as I could and signed a pass to go to the bathroom so I could be alone.
Anything and everything that happened after that pass was signed is a blur now. I don't remember any of the rest of that school day. When I got home, I was reluctant to even show my parents the pictures. As I handed the packet to my mom, I told her to be sure not to buy any of them. When she asked me why, I couldn't lie to her.
"I hate them," I said. "Look at the stupid gap between my front teeth. It makes me look like an idiot."
After looking at the pictures, looking up at me, and looking back down at the pictures, she smiled as she offered the cheesiest piece of motherly reassurance she could've given me.
"It doesn't make you look like an idiot," she told me. "It's cute, and it makes you different."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Different. Yeah. Sure. Different. That would've been nice to hear, but different wasn't what I wanted to be. I wanted to be just like the other kids. I wanted to not be hating myself.
Things didn't get any easier for a very long time. Middle school was three of the worst years of my life because I was, "different."
In middle school, when the guy I had a crush on sat next to me in class, being the girl with her nose stuck in books all the time and being "different" was instant death- seeing as the girl who sat on his other side was a model and had a social circle that extended far beyond my social anxiety and awkwardness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time I had made it three fourths of the way through my junior year of high school, it had really started to sink in just how different I really was. Not just because of the way that one eye was open wider than the other and because there was a gap between my front teeth, but because I was a dandelion.
I had realized I wasn't different in a way that made me any less wonderful or worth less than anyone else. I was different in the sense that I was more than enough. I was different in the sense that who I was was so much bigger, deeper, and more sincere than just what I looked like. So much more than my muddy brown eyes and gap-toothed grin could tell you. And that, to me, is so important.
Because when it comes to accepting and even loving myself, and/or being accepted and loved by others, I want that love to pull at every piece of me. I want to feel everything. I want that love to ring true with my entire essence. I'm a dandelion, remember? I want that love to rip me out of the ground, throw me back down and stomp on me so hard I have no choice but to dive right back into the soil and grow right back again.
So, to the boy who ripped me from the ground and tossed me into the gutter just to make room in your basket for the prettiest of flowers that this world garden has to offer, know this:
(Lyrics from, "Dandelion," by Antje Duvekot)
"I am the Fourth of July. I'm throwing you a fire in the sky. You could go blind in my light. But you were looking for an orchid, and I will always be a dandelion."
PS: I still have the gap between my front teeth. I kinda own it now.
for a flower, I've learned an awful lot about life.
and love.
and what it feels like to finally be one of those people
I've always wanted to be.
It's been me all along.
Being myself has been and will always be enough.
I will always be a dandelion.
Comments
Post a Comment