When I think of my childhood I cant help but smile and close my eyes even if just for a split second, to imagine myself in elementary school once again. I was always prone to get lost in the crowds due to the overwhelming determination to march to my own beat but was never too difficult to find due to the fact that my height already read at least three feet taller than even the tallest boy at the time. If one couldn't find me by my height, they could easily follow the sounds of the harmonica where I could be found reading harmonica music, and filling my recess with art as a substitute for some much-needed exercise during this time in my life.
When the summer hit and the exciting time to be at camp rolled around, my best friends would make shirts that were filled with flowers and animals and everything that shouts elegant childhood, except for me. My creation was the black t-shirt found drying on the clothing line that read “I love food” with fried eggs, bacon, and carrots covering the rest of the dark space. I wore that shirt for years until my mom sneaked it into the donation box — probably for the best.
I felt beautiful with my bob cut hair that accentuated my double chin and although I wore boy's clothes everyday at school, I always felt like the most beautiful gem when my mom would curl my hair and help me squeeze into the tiny bedazzled dress for my choir concerts.
When I was younger I was embarrassingly the embodiment of what would be my worst dorky nightmare today, and yet I was the happiest child in the world. Up until I left elementary school I was the prematurely developed, overweight, bob cut rocking, and harmonica loving dork who strutted through life without having a single negative thought about her own body or self and I will forever remember these as the most care-free and confident years of my life.
Once I hit middle school this beloved view of my inner self began to slowly drift away without me ever taking a second to realize that it was going away. I needed to beg for it to never leave. I began to notice the shape of my body, the roundness of my face, the way my mannerisms where not being tolerated as “lady-like,” how my voice was lower than all the other girls, and how my jean shorts stopped at my knees opposed to the other girl’s shorts that made mine begin to look more like capris.
Instantly, a long list of promises was soon being added to a never ending list that would reside in my head forever. These expectations for myself soon became concrete by a young age and these are still some ideals that I subconsciously follow today. Never cut your hair above your chest because short hair isn't your style, either wear shorts that show some thigh or wear long jeans, if your arms aren't in shape don't wear fitted shirts with no sleeves, make sure your hair is well kemp, sit up straight, take smaller strides when you walk, stop slouching, speak in a higher tone, the list goes on and on.
The most amazing thing is how subtle these transitions in my way of thinking were. Although I can now look back and mark the end of elementary school as the transition out of my endless lack of care for anything that the world or I could think of myself, it wasn't something that I realized was escaping me until it was too late.
To this day, I am interpreted as someone who fails to care what anyone else thinks of her. As long as people see me as someone who is always a respectful human being, I would have to agree that I have a hard time caring about any other opinions of me aside from that. Even though to this day find myself not caring what others think of me, the older I get, the more I care about what I think of myself.
Since I left elementary school I have found myself becoming more and more concerned with my own self-approval. It’s amazing to think that someone who fails to care about others opinions, could ever become so enveloped with their own opinion of themselves. This is an issue that I know so many of even the most outspoken people today face. It’s the biggest hoax of false inner confidence as our outward confidence acts as a smoke screen that hides our lack of self-love behind a wall of confident disregard for the opinions of others.
Due to this fact, it is those moments when I close my eyes and imagine myself back in elementary school that I beg my fifth-grade self to never lose that careless love of my every imperfection. There is nothing more beautiful than life before it becomes intoxicated with what the media teaches you what they say is needed, be able to look in the mirror and call every aspect of yourself beautiful. Every day I pray that I will live with a childlike faith and let my outward confidence not be a smoke-screen to any lack of self-love, but a reflection of how God created every ounce of one’s body and self in pure beauty.
