If you are about to sit down and patiently read this, I want
to first of all thank you. Although I
have at some points taken the time to write more personal posts throughout this
blog, this will be by far the most personal.
It may make you uncomfortable, angry or sad, and you may not want to
continue reading, even after this sentence, and to that, I totally
understand. I am also disabling comments
at the end, as I don’t want anyone to feel obligated to record a reaction, nor
do I want spammed comments (i.e., “great post! Want to follow each
other?”). More so, this post is being
written for myself, and for any woman out there who has ever felt uncomfortable
or judged by someone who should love her unconditionally.
Growing up, “idiot” “dumbass” “fat” and occasionally “bitch”
were common words used in my household.
These words were assigned to me at a young age, when I should have been
hearing words such as “beautiful” “intelligent” and “capable”. I’ve often described my childhood as “walking
on eggshells”, worried to death about upsetting my father (over anything,
really), and knowing that if I did, I wouldn’t have my mother to defend me. From an early age, I was conditioned to be
perfect.
It didn’t matter what was going on behind closed doors or
how instances made my sister & I feel.
After all, we had an act to put on.
I attended the best school in town, always had the best clothes, the
best friends, the best of everything. Because appearance is everything. It didn’t matter what went on in our house as
long as the neighbors believed that we were a perfect family.
While the importance of intelligence was somewhat emphasized,
the most important thing (in the entire world!) was physical appearance. My very pale skin (something I really love
about myself today) was given the gift of a tanning bed package in the form of
an Easter Basket in middle school. I
quickly learned that pale=ugly and tan=desirable. It didn’t matter than skin cancer is rampant
in my family; my aunt suffered a bout of melanoma, my father & sister
milder forms of skin cancer.
At that awkward age in middle school/high school when one is
growing into a woman, developing and transforming into a new body, I began to
form curves. I was mortified. “You look like a cow, I mean come on,
Allison!” Walking down the hallways of
my high school, tanned like I had lived in Miami Beach for a year, and wearing
the cutest clothes, kids thought I had all of the confidence in the world. I had none.
It was an appearance; one that I so desperately needed to keep up to
make myself believe that I was good enough.
Going off to college was a bit of a freeing experience for
me, however with this experience brought new issues that again, made me not
good enough, such as gaining the notorious “freshman 15”. I might have gained a bit more. While at home for summer break, I wasn’t
allowed to leave the house without wearing a pair of black pants, to try to
appear thinner, and my weight was the only issue of importance, ever. I was “fat”.
I need to “lose weight or else how would I ever get a boyfriend?” At the beginning of each week, my mother
would take a tape measure and measure the circumference of my thighs. “God, you’re so huge, Allison!” It’s funny how negative reinforcement doesn’t
quite work the same way that positive does.
The result of this? I continued
to eat and gain weight.
Moving to Los Angeles was an eye-opening experience for
me. Less than a year after I moved, my
father killed himself. This is by far
the most painful thing I’ve ever had to go through, but that doesn’t take away
from the fact that my father was not the best.
I know that in general, society likes to glorify the deceased, but years
of therapy has still not gotten me through the issues I’ve dealt with from my
parents.
You are probably wondering why I am writing this post. Why
now? What is the point?
My sister and I both live in Los Angeles. She is truly my best friend in this entire
world, and I think everything of her.
This weekend, she graduated with her Master’s degree, and after the dust
settled and family was on a plane home, she informed me that she would be going
to have a cosmetic procedure done. Why?
I asked her, a bit in shock. This
was something she had never mentioned anything about before. If you have seen my sister than you know that
she is beautiful, just absolutely stunning.
“Because while mom was here, she made a comment about how ugly this
looked! She can’t believe that I haven’t
taken care of it yet!”
After all of these years, we are still prisoners.
As I am writing this, I am 115 pounds, and a size 2. By all standards, I am small. Every day as I look in the mirror, I think I
am getting fat. I have been conditioned to be perfect. But
what is perfect? The form of
“perfect” that I have conditioned to be is one that has made me feel completely
ugly and suffer time and time again.
Society already tells us that we need this, that & the other
to be perfect. As women, I think it is
our duty to encourage other women, to always give positive reinforcement and
help each other feel proud & beautiful.
As a lot of my friends have already had babies and are still
having them, I keep finding that I am pushing it off. As I really look into it, part of me starts
to wonder if it’s due to the fact that I’m scared to death. I’m terrified of having a daughter and having
anyone say and do the things that were done to me growing up. I’m terrified of anyone telling her that
she’s not good enough, not pretty enough, not smart enough, not thin enough.
The other main reason that I am writing this is because I know
that I have young readers. I have
readers that are in high school who may be feeling the same things that I did
when I was younger. Although I hope that
you are receiving positive & uplifting comments at home, I’m going to give
you some more. YOU are capable. You are beautiful. You are intelligent. As a woman, you can conquer the world. You have the ability to do anything that you
put your mind to. Anything. Don’t ever let
anyone tell you that you can’t do something.
Don’t ever let anyone put you down.
Don’t ever let anyone take away your power because as you get older, it
becomes harder to take it back. You are
amazing, and if you’ve read through this, I thank you.
