I fight with the words on the screen. It is a desperate wrestling, grasping, fight to be on top. It is the seeking after control against the rushing torrent of words that want to litter the screen. The words want to be there, to tell the stories within; but I want them sleek, refined, controlled. The result is a dozen drafts never finished. A line here, a picture with caption there. But nothing for you to see.
I want you all to like me, so very badly. Even as I worry that there is nothing much about me to like. I am just a normal girl, just another white girl who’s problems are naught compared to the rest of the world. See, even in my normality, I have to dramatize so that I can feel better.
I’m scared of writing just nothing. I’m scared of writing something that will be hated. I’m scared of writing something that will be loved. What if, after I astonish you with one post, I just disappoint you with the next? I hate disappointing people. I loathe letting myself down.
And so I stare at the blank screen, and particularly today’s prompts and I wonder what to tell you. Do I tell you of this 5’10, size 6 girl’s struggle with body acceptance and self love? Or will that just annoy you as it has so many others? Do I make a list of 23 places I’ve been, because one identity I’m comfortable with is that of travel companion to my husband? Or is that just bragging about the amazing sights I have seen?
But, here’s the thing, I have struggled with body image issues. I still do. I’ve been 6-10 inches taller than all of my friends for most of my life, I’ve never felt normal sized or delicately womanly. I love my body now, mostly anyway, but it is a continuing journey to do so. My best features are my eyes, which are so deep and rich a green that I’ve been accused of wearing colored contacts and my smile, which is quirky, but lights up my eyes and has been the cause of compliment of many a stranger. They are the window to my soul and the one part of me I would never want to change. My least favorite part about me, at least living in Europe, would have to be my feet. They are a US 10, European 42, and finding shoes is nigh on impossible over here in the land of petite-footed women. So I dress them up with nail polish and too-tall heels because if I’m going to be noticed, then I might as well go all out. I’m finally in acceptance that I will never be healthy and weigh 120, even if that’s higher than what all my friends weighed when we were teens. When I first learned to lie about my weight. None of them weighed over 100 lbs. I was 140 and a scrawny stick. I like my curves, and even more, I like that my husband likes them.
I put it there, and even now, I’m itching to delete it. That wouldn’t be authentic though, and that, above all else is what I want to give to you and to myself from this project. Authenticity. Not me, hiding behind the mask of what I should be, but just me, being me even if it drives you away. Even if it leaves me all alone.
Why? Because only in being this me, the real me, have I found wonderful people out here. People like Stereo, who push me, love me, and encourage me so much more than I deserve. And that, my friends, is a priceless gift.
So, in the end, my words and I struggle with each other to show you who I am. I wish that I was always polished, always dramatic, always the most of whatever it is I need to be. But I’m not. I’m just me. A girl with many flaws, who desperately wants to be your friend.