It’s my Birthday week, and I tend to get a little extra sentimental this time of year. Mostly, despite how much I hate aging, it’s because I’m grateful to be alive. There was a period during my youth when death was a preferred option. I didn’t believe I had anything to offer the world. I didn’t believe I was someone people could love, unless they were forced to by a blood bond. I was made to feel unworthy of life, because of what I looked like. Even typing that now, it feels like my heart is in a vice. Some wounds are so deep, they never truly heal. They get scarred over, but the internal damage has already been done. It hasn’t changed as I’ve gotten older. I’m well into my thirties and still being bullied for not fitting any conventional definition of beautiful. What I have learned though, is that the world is vast, and the universe is infinite. And for every person who calls me ugly, or Sir, or every group of teenagers that giggle to each other, and whip out a phone to send a picture of me to so-and-so because “they won’t believe what they’ve just seen”, there is someone who loves me…or at the very least appreciates me, or something I’ve done for them. We don’t always have the opportunity to kill someone with kindness. Occasionally there will be people in the world who label you as one thing, and that’s all you’ll ever be to them. As hard as it may be, we have to accept that. I would love for everyone I encounter to see my heart, to see me…because I am the type of person who thrives on enriching the lives of those around them. Some may argue that it’s a product of my insecurity, but it’s who I’ve always been. I have always been kind. I have always been the first to lend a helping hand. I have always loved first, and asked questions later. I had a good ten or eleven years before society told me I was ugly, and what developed in that time is the bulk of who I am today. It’s what kept me alive when I thought it would be easier to cease existence. I loved the people who loved me too much to let go. I still do. It wasn’t until I realized that there’s more to life than beauty, that I realized how beautiful life really is. It took me a few years to get there, but I haven’t looked back since. I finally learned to love myself for who I am, not hate myself for what I look like. Does it sting when I’m faced with the hurtfulness of others? Sure. I’ve evolved, but not that much. There will always be a part of that teenage girl inside of me who wants to feel pretty. But, it’s just a sting. I rarely forget myself for too long. I’m to a point where it’s only the people I love that can genuinely hurt me, sometimes with the unintentional backhanded compliment, or the dreaded “let’s just be friends”. Those are subjects for another day though, because even those times of heartbreak never quell my zeal for life. I am thankful each night to rest my head, and even more grateful to see the sun when I wake. I try my best to accept, appreciate, and learn from everything that happens in-between, especially when my instinct is to do the opposite. It’s only when we move beyond the pain that we grow enough to inspire, be inspired, and put enough love out into the world to conquer all.
