Rough Around The Edges
My roughness is part of my character. It is because I was raised by my dad and my brother. It is because we watched Monty Python, Mel Brooks, and Beavis and Butthead together (although dad would not admit that! I promise you, he laughed as much as we did). It is because we made tree forts in the woods and played sports in the backyard. Because Arthur and Zeke made me laugh until I pissed myself, literally. Because my dad was fiercely proud that I was the last girl in the baseball league, and because he taught us how to sail. We spent most days salty, sandy, or dirty, and we did not care.
It is because my dad did not care if people disagreed with him. And because he spent nights sitting up late with me as we talked religion, and people, and history. He exemplified “be good and you will be lonesome.” He was a poet, a romantic, an individual, and a humanitarian. He instilled those things in me. I learned from him to see the beauty in the world. I developed empathy, and embraced my individuality.
But I became afraid of my individuality in my teenage years. I think probably everyone felt insecure to some degree. I let it change me for the worse. I stopped speaking my youthful truth, and began to mimic others. I wanted to blend in. I did not want to be noticed. I can trace it back to a makeover my mother gave me. I don’t blame her for it. We shed the tomboy and replaced it with fitted clothes and cute tops. I remember looking at myself in these new clothes at the mall and I thought “wow…I’m cute!”
But I could feel a quiet prodding. A reminder that I wasn’t fooling anyone. Underneath this new shiny polish was the messy tomboy who sometimes like to sit out on the beach alone and daydream. In middle school, the other girls knew I was a fraud. And I was bullied by girls who hated me for trying to be this other thing. I couldn’t even tell you their names anymore. But they made me want to disappear, so that’s what I tried to do.
And then there were the boys. Those awful teenage boys. They often didn’t know better than to treat girls like something to be acquired and had, and then discarded when you either did or did not give them what they wanted. When you’re a young girl in that atmosphere, it’s hard not to measure your worth by whether boys like you or not. And everyone participates in the awful game, boys and girls alike. I wish I could have been stronger. I wish I’d had the guts to tell them I didn’t give a shit what they thought of me. But I was scared of being disliked, of being noticed too much.
Fast forward many years.
I know now that I do not need anyone who doesn’t like me the way I am. I do not want anyone who would like me better if I were more polished, ladylike, graceful, maybe not such a messy eater. Or if they think my face would be prettier if my nose were not so big. And I certainly do not want anyone who believes women ought to be a certain way.
Because I’ll tell you this. Some days, I won’t shave. Not a thing! I’ve been known to go a few days. I kind of appreciate when the leg hair gets real soft. Most days I can’t be bothered to do much more than put a brush through my hair. I go too long between eyebrow waxing and haircuts. My fingernails are not manicured and I cut my toenails super short.
I enjoy music that makes most people want to jump off a bridge! I sometimes eat a restaurants alone, not because I’m trying to get picked up, but because I like eating at restaurants and sometimes I like being alone. I enjoy time to myself.
I’m sometimes attracted to women, but I picture myself married to a man.
Sometimes I overthink stuff, but I enjoy thinking stuff out. I know how to laugh and have fun, but sometimes I take myself really seriously.
I have codependency and trust issues that I’m actively dealing with. I don’t fully love myself yet. I want to be independent and I want a partner with whom I can be fiercely loyal and honest, and they’ll do the same for me. But I know I’m strong enough to handle it if they decide they don’t want to anymore.
I know I have to tap into my confidence and self worth if I wish to be successful, and I know that I’m on my way, and I trust it will come.
I make bad jokes and puns that usually make me laugh and everyone else roll their eyes. I’ll probably just keep that up!
With all of these truths, what’s not for me to love?
