Going Girly

When I was little, I wanted to be girly. My hair was long, I wore dresses, skirts, and shoes that clicked on the sidewalk when I walked. That all changed when I got to 2nd grade.

In Kindergarten and 1st grade, I was pretty popular. I had a lot of friends. This was at a time when "You can't come to my birthday" actually worked as a threat. Ahh, childhood. Right before 2nd grade, I got my first perm. I dreamed of the long flowing spiral curls that bounce with each step the lucky girl takes. Those dreams only come true for people with hair not like mine. My hair had to be curled tight in order to even hold some of the curl. Then it was cut short. That's when the teasing started.

I remember being chased around the playground by a couple of girls who would pull at my curls to see if they would bounce back. I remember a boy that I thought was cute telling me he didn't like me anymore because I was ugly. I would do my hair in the morning and dress up all pretty in a skirt and my clicky shoes. I thought I was pretty. My Mom said I was pretty. My Aunts and Grandmother's said I was pretty. So I was pretty, right?

Nope. Well, not according to the 2nd graders in my class. At the time, those 2nd grader's opinions meant more than anything. I wanted to be accepted. I wanted people to like me. Just like everyone else. Even the best friend I had at the time said she didn't want to see me anymore because I was getting fat.

Great. I was only 8 years old and I thought I was ugly and fat. It didn't help that I had to wear thick glasses due to a lazy eye. I remember shopping in the "pretty plus" section of the store. I wanted so badly to wear the cute clothes the other girls wore, but they were either too expensive or I was too big. Seriously, $100 for a pair of jeans for an 8 year old? Really? I can buy two weeks worth of groceries for that!

Anyway, that was the start of me trying to hide myself from the world. I stopped wearing dresses. I stopped wearing clicky shoes. I tried a hundred different hair styles, each worse than the last in my eyes. My glasses got thicker along with my waist. I stopped trying to be girly and decided it'd be better to be "one-of-the-guys". I never saw the guys judging eachother. Baggy jeans. Tennis shoes. Flannel shirts. Big t-shirts. Anything I could find to hide my body and my plummeting self-esteem.

We moved and I mostly just hid in my room. Until I got to 9th grade. I was teased relentlessly on the bus to and from school. My books were knocked onto the floor. I was pushed down the stairs. Then I hurt my knee and was on crutches for several weeks. I was accused of "faking it" so I didn't have to play in gym class. I was accused of just wanting attention. I even had one kid kick my crutch out from under me when I was trying to get to class. The worst was one time when I was trying to get off the bus with crutches and a backpack full of homework. It was winter time and I slipped. I fell and all my books scattered. Everyone on the bus laughed. The driver yelled "Are you ok?" He didn't even wait for my answer. He closed the doors and drove off. I layed there for a minute and cried. Not too long after that, Dad got a better job and we moved again.

It was a small town and I could start fresh. I still hated myself. I hated the world. Life sucked. I was 15. I was normal. The remaining years of high school weren't too bad. I was the band geek. The choir chick. The church girl. Although my classmates seemed to be pretty tolerant and accepting of everyone, I still felt out of place. I realize now that I was depressed. I managed to slither through the last couple years and made it to graduation. I thought that day would never come. That was 12 years ago.

I spent the next few years fighting myself. Depression, gaining weight, abusive relationships, financial issues, etc. I'll get into that more at a later time perhaps.

Then about 5 years ago, I met the man of my dreams. Every girl wants a tall, dark, and handsome man to sweep her off her feet. Well, Mr. Tall-dark-and-handsome is now my husband. He tells me I'm pretty. He never wants me to change...except for one thing: be more girly.

Ok. How do I do that? I've spent a good chunk of my life hiding and trying to NOT be girly! I even said if I ever had kids, I wanted boys so I didn't have to be girly. I hated the color pink. I hated dresses. I hated bows in my hair. I hated shoes, make up (unless it was just cover-up), perfumes, curling irons. I hated anything that would make me girly. Because that is when the teasing started. When I tried to be what I thought was pretty. I would get my nails done and my hair dyed, but even that brought stares and raised eyebrows. Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe it was just my own insecurities assuming the worst in people's glances. Why was I so concerned with what others thought of me?

Several months ago, I started selling Avon. I don't know why. It just popped into my head one day as a way to make some extra cash and I signed up. I was told one of the best ways to sell is to be a walking advertisement. So I bought a bunch of stuff. I was actually excited when my new make-up arrived. I put on the make up and did my nails in my new polish. I put on some new clothes that my husband picked out and bought for me that he thought were more "girly" than my normal oversized polo shirts.

I remember walking out into the living room. Bracing myself for the laughter. Waiting for that familiar feeling of humiliation. I took a deep breath. I asked the question that most men quiver in fear when they are asked, "How do I look?" He looked at me, gave me a huge smile, and said, "You look pretty."

I finally believed it. I felt pretty. I think it's about time I keep going girly.