Self-concept is everything.
A few nights ago I found myself sharing a meme on Facebook. One that hit a bit harder than others.
What is with these memes about fitting in with other girls that cuts me to the core?
This one was pretty light-hearted. I actually laughed out loud at it at first.
Until I let it sink in that this is my reality:
I have some pretty amazing people that commented back with encouraging words.
But ultimately these words didn’t change my self-concept. It didn’t puncture a hole in the ever-growing belief I have that I don’t fit in.
I’m that crocodile.
I wish I could view myself through the lens of those who commented. You are all so kind.
However, I have never taken compliments well.
How could I when I continue moving the bar of what will be good enough.
This recovering perfectionist has fallen off the wagon.
I live in this belief that I’ll never, ever be a girl in a squad.
And sometimes that is okay.
Sometimes it is gut-wrenching.
Growing up I never had steady friends. A short-lived connection here and there. Fizzled out after a few months. Maybe a year.
I always said I was too busy for friends.
Pageants. 4.0 GPA. Volunteering. Cheerleading. Track. Church. Family. Boyfriends.
But those were walls.
Guarded walls that protected me from the risk.
The risk of feeling like that crocodile.
I still do it today.
I think to myself some Saturday’s that I’m too busy for friends.
Too many jobs. Too much responsibility. Endless school.
But those, again, are my tried and true walls of protection.
Because I believe that I am that crocodile.
And who wants to take ballet with an outcast in tights?
Who wants to invest in someone damaged like me?
Recently I thought I was obsessed with an Ariana Grande lyric that says,
“Been through some bad shit, I should be a sad bitch
Who woulda thought it’d turn me to a savage?”
Until I told my therapist about it (yes- even a therapist can see a therapist) and he looked me square in the eyes and said,
“Do you really want to be a savage?”
It’s all protection. Guarded walls.
These walls stem from how I view myself.
An impersonator in a dress.
A bruised-up, broken, damaged girl in a cardigan.
I’m working on this.
I’m not that girl anymore.
I truly, in this moment, feel as if I am not that girl anymore.
Becoming an adult can be freeing for a girl with a traumatic childhood.
But sometimes that little girl with bruised hips and an empty fridge shows herself to this strong, confident woman I’ve become.
And who would have thought a meme could trigger it?
Although I will now forever imagine myself as that crocodile in a dress I am wondering if somehow, someway, someone out there would like to be friends with an outcast in tights?
Because i’m sick of not believing I’m enough.
I. Am. Enough.
Scattered. Bruised. Strong. Resilient. Hopeful.
If you’re that crocodile in a dress too- try to read the comments. Try to believe the people around you telling you otherwise. Challenge yourself. Take risks.
And ultimately, be vulnerable.
It’s the best.
Thanks for reading- my thoughts were just sort of going tonight.