Confessions of a Former Ugly Girl

A few months ago something remarkable happened. I don’t remember what I was doing or where I was going that day. I just remember that when I looked in the mirror, for the first time in my life, the ugly girl was gone. Now I had outgrown the ugly duckling phase many years ago and I knew it. In my adult life I’ve had a lot of days when I looked at my reflection and saw a pretty face but I could always see where the ugly girl had been and where she might still hide beneath the surface. This was different. She had completely vanished and I didn’t even notice her leaving. She didn’t make a scene, didn’t leave a note…it was as if she had never existed at all. What’s even better is that she hasn’t returned since. I don’t see her anymore, not even in the morning when my hair is a mess and I have no makeup on. When I look at myself I see a genuinely pretty woman. Sure I have what some would call flaws. The dark circles under my eyes, my crooked ear, and funny nose still exist and they aren’t going away. I don’t mind them though. They add to my unique appearance. Maybe they even add to what makes me pretty though I can’t say for sure.

Is it because I have been working so hard on my self-esteem? Is it my new boobs and flatter stomach? Is it because I’m a mother now? Mothers carry a special kind of beauty after all and people do frequently tell me how much my daughter resembles me. She is absolutely gorgeous! Perhaps all the compliments I receive regularly finally sank in. Maybe it’s all of the above. The important thing is that it happened. I escaped the clutches of the ugly girl and I didn’t even have to watch her finally slip away as an unwanted afterthought. I certainly remember her. I remember what it was like to be her and I definitely understand what Janice Ian was talking about, what Tori Amos shared, and even Christina Aguilara’s words have a special place in my heart.

While I’m glad she’s gone, I also don’t want to seem ungrateful. She taught me a lot of things. She is probably a big part of why I’m a nice person, a compassionate person, an imaginative person. I vividly remember sitting on the flimsy old swing set in the backyard of the house where George was born. I don’t think I had passed 2^nd grade yet. I sat there under a grey sky feeling awkward and ugly, wishing that I would one day grow up to be beautiful. Obviously it had greater importance to me then than it does now. I learned a long time ago that the most important beauty radiates from within and that the outside is just a casing. I guess that’s why I found it to be such a pleasant surprise when I saw that pretty woman in the mirror. I hope with all my heart that I can show Violet that she’s beautiful inside and out. I hope she always walks with a generous heart and her head held high.

When the Sword is Too Heavy...

This was a long time ago...before my brother died, before I became a mother, before breast cancer. How I wanted to be strong enough to lift that sword...

As much as I hate to admit it, I still occasionally have my whiny “poor me” days. Today is definitely one of them. Sometimes it’s so hard not to just scream and smash things and rant about how unfair it is that after all the shit I’ve been through…I’m still struggling. I’m still scrounging and scraping and clawing to survive and now I’m doing it without a partner. Part of me wants to bust into the office of the CEO in charge of life and the world and demand a reasonable accommodation. Hell, how about a big fat pay raise? I’ve battled, bled, grieved and at times I’ve even starved. Let me tell you; there are no tears that flow more bitterly than the ones brought by hunger. Well, at least not in my experience. Hm. I’m not sure I’ve ever shared that before. There is something about going hungry that has some sort of shame attached to it.

I am not sharing this to elicit sympathy. I am sharing it because I’m hoping that by admitting to it, I can rid myself of the self-pity and guilt that comes with it. I don’t feel it every day but sometimes I’m just not strong enough to keep it at bay. I suppose this is okay. I mean it makes me human right? It makes me stop and talk myself down or write a blog. It makes me want to go back in time and pick up that enormous claymore and scream my way into the fray with primal blood-lust and the sort of madness a person sometimes needs to stay alive. Only now there is no field of battered bodies. There is no claymore. However there is that mad lust for survival. There is that mad desire to violently tear down the walls of this unsavory reality and stand atop its rubble bleeding, scarred, and triumphant.

So I guess tonight as I am feeling alone and lost while my daughter is at her father’s house, I can at least be glad that there is a plate of warm and delicious food waiting to fill my belly. As I fight of the self-beating that threatens over doing something incredibly stupid earlier today, I will use the things I’ve done right to guide me through this darkness. I will hold onto the knowledge that Violet will be coming home on Friday and I can hold and kiss her until my heart bursts with blissful love. It’s her. She gives me strength and I won’t stop until I am every last bit the mother she needs and deserves. I won’t stop. Ever. It’s a lonely road right now and I am tired, so very tired but I am also stronger and more determined. I will not let this win.