Dear Self-Conscious,
I think it's time we break up. As much as I love the fact that you've been there for me through thick and thin, you've become the Regina George of friends: plastic and fake. Sometimes you make me feel great, on top of the world and invincible, and then other times you make me feel small, out of control, and as though my looks are nothing in comparison to everyone else's. Here's the thing, I'm tired of being out of control, and I'm tired of being the ever-put-down Gretchen Weiners.
I have something to tell you self-conscious. I am glorious. Nothing will ever change that. The other day, my S.O. gave me a compliment, and I shut down, thinking he was lying to me. I didn't feel beautiful. I was in sweats and a t-shirt, no make-up, acne all over my body from antibiotics, my hair a mess, and yet he still called me gorgeous. I didn't know what he saw in me, I was an absolute mess, call me Ms. Norbury and you'd be right (Tina Fey in "Mean Girls").
Today, I woke up to him stopping by my dorm, me in my PJs, and him calling me beautiful. I looked outside the window, avoiding his compliment, and saw the bright blue sky, lush green grass, and familiar Drake squirrels running about and decided that today was the day, I was going to mentally push you in front of the bus.
We had lunch and he went his own way. I showered, did my hair, my makeup, put on some new clothes, and most importantly: changed my attitude. Self-conscious, I am no longer in need of you telling me when I am and am not beautiful because it's not up for anyone to decide, because I am beautiful, extravagant, wonderful, powerful, and any other compliment given to me, no matter what I'm wearing.
I will no longer wear pink on Wednesdays to appease you, I won't care if my skin isn't flawless, and I will proudly wear my sweatpants around campus. I refuse to be knocked into a trash can, have food dumped on my lap, or have you dictate what earrings I may or may not wear just because they're your thing.
So I'm breaking my tiara, ripping my prom dress up, and accepting my math–letes jacket with pride, because I am done with you Self-Conscious.
Sincerely,
A Cady of the world
