We all have insecurities. “My nose is too big,” “My thighs are huge!’”, “My hair looks funny.” These are things we as a society hear all too often. Why? Why have we become obsessed with the way we appear on the outside? That is the unanswerable question.
When I was about 12 years old, I kept a journal of sorts. Thinking about the things I wrote brings tears to my eyes, and writing this, is very difficult. I have never told anyone about this journal, for reasons you will come to know. Imagine an impressionable little girl. We all know her. She is young, awkward, and has a smile on her face. Beneath this smile, she hides something very dark, that some adults can’t even understand, so why should she? Why should this little girl have to deal with matters that surpass her level of comprehension? These are the unanswerable questions.
Still, this little girl faces and tries to answer these questions, every day. She avoids mirrors, gawks at the girls in her class who wear name brand, fitted clothing, while she sits in her t-shirt and fleece jacket, ashamed of what is underneath. “Why?” she thinks to herself, “Why can’t I be like them? Skinny and beautiful.”
Recently, I have gone back and read this journal that I kept. It takes me back to when I cared what other people thought. When, as a little girl, I was counting calories and limiting myself just to fit in. As I read this journal, I read the words of a child, angry, sad, and hurting. This person is now foreign to me.
This little girl goes home after school, looking forward to the three hours she will have to herself, before reality catches up with her. In these three hours, she sings. Belts out the words to “Popular”, a song from her favorite musical, that is all too real. No one is watching. No one is listening. No one is judging. Time carries on and her time of being herself has ended. She is brought back to the real world. Her ears tainted with words from her Superiors saying, “Do you really need that piece of bread? Maybe, you should consider going on a diet.” She nods, breaking on the inside, and acts as though this doesn’t faze her at all. After eating the bare minimum, she excuses herself from the table, puts her dishes away and goes to her room. Her sanctum that holds no mirrors, no pictures, and is the place she feels the safest.
In Her sanctum, she cries. She writes in her journal, pouring every feeling onto the page. The next day she does not eat, punishing herself for crying the previous night, and hoping that if she doesn’t eat, maybe everything will change. This routine continues until she finds herself increasingly tired. Her birthday comes and she decides to stray away from the norm and wear a nice dress to school. Everyone in her classes compliment it. The little girl returns home and is confronted with the question, “Do you really think you should have worn that today? Maybe something more…form fitting?” This time, the little girl nods and says all of the things she has bottled up. When she is out of breath, she touches her face. Her hand comes away, wet with tears. She bolts to her sanctum and never comes back out.
As I stand in my sanctum now, I am surrounded by people I love, people whom I trust. Although the little girl never came out, a new person appeared in her place; the replacement able to look in the mirror and stand up for herself. I remember this little girl. That is all she is, a memory that I didn’t let become reality. I see the world in a different way; not skinny and fat, but for what it really is kind and cruel. I look beyond the surface of the human skin, the facade that society has built, and search for the person living inside. I have overcome the wall I built for myself at a young age and created a new person. A real person.
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