The Journey To Me: A Reflection
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Health and Wellness

The Journey To Me: A Reflection

Growing up is hard for all of us.

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The Journey To Me: A Reflection
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In middle school, I thought there was only one form of beauty. At 13, I believed I had to have straight hair, clear skin, a ready smile- and even the occasional backflip up my sleeve. (All the cool girls were cheerleaders.) Unfortunately for me, however, I was born the complete opposite of everything I so desperately wanted. Simply put: I was not one of the “cool kids”. I was painfully uncool. But, *sigh*at the time, nothing seemed cooler than being cool.
So I spent my days idolizing the girls who were showered with the attention that I myself never received.

I, with frizzy hair, poor social skills, an acne-ridden face, and low self-esteem was a far cry from the effervescent, bubbly preteens who effortlessly flounced down the hall, followed closely by their eager and excitable posse. Those girls always had something to say and someone to say it to. But as for me, I could barely summon up the courage to even make conversation with a teacher. And more often than not, I walked down the hall alone. Dejected.

Throughout my seventh grade year, days seemed to drag on and on. In order to “help me focus” I took A.D.D. medications that felt more like depressants. The side effects were supposed to be the likes of a suppressed appetite, but instead what I experienced was just plain suppression. They froze me up during any social interaction. While medicated, I felt lethargic and cloudy.

My isolation was so severe while in my classes, I always prayed for assigned seats and assigned partners. Everyone else’s excitement at being able to pick their partner was countered by my embarrassment at having to face the fact that no one ever wanted to pair up with me. Each day I would sit in the corner and pick incessantly at my endless split ends.

As the year went on, I began to avert my eyes from others because all I saw was either judgment or pity. At night I would go home determined to change myself to be better, more likable, or prettier somehow; but with each day's failure, I began to feel more weighed down. It got to the point where I would just go home and cry. It’s not necessarily that I felt sorry for myself. I just didn’t know what was so wrong with me to make me feel so alone all of the time.

That was six years ago. In a way, growing up for me has been like climbing the steps of Maslow’s Hierarchy: I had a stable home environment, food to eat, clothes to wear. All of the primary bases were covered. But the elements with which I was living without simply made life miserable and prevented me from reaching a point of self-actualization.

Friendship, self-esteem, respect, validation.

People often ask, "Why do privileged young girls become depressed? Start cutting? Develop an eating disorder? Offer their body to an undeserving boy?"

Well. I imagine it's because they felt similar to how I did. If I could go back in time, I would give my younger self a hug and tell her that everything was going to be okay. Above all, I would remind her that everything I could ever need is already within me.

Once I arrived at high school I discovered that I did not necessarily need to reinvent myself in order for things to be different. Things just were already different, both inherently and beautifully so. As I entered my freshman year, iPhone and social media culture were on the rise. I had yet to even own an iPhone, and instead used a flip phone and cracked iPod touch to help me communicate. (That was a drag.)

Sites like Instagram and Twitter were being picked up at a rapid pace everywhere by young teens. The phenomenon of having access to all of your peers in the palm of your hand pretty much dominated our culture. On the internet, you can be whoever you want people to think you are. I enjoyed the connection it provided and the fact that I was mostly in control of how people perceived me online, building my own narrative with hashtags and filters.

My Freshman and Sophomore year I bounced between friend groups and activities, falling head over heels for the typical high school clichés like the first dance, first boyfriend, first kiss, first love. I sang in the Show Choir, and let myself be happy there. I ran my heart out on the cross country course, and I let myself feel successful.

There was so much going on and for the first time in my life, I was being recognized as interesting and worthwhile. Between my sports and activities network, I met and developed a large friend group. It felt amazing to find people who laughed at the same jokes I laughed at, did the same things I did, and who had new things to teach me as well.

In the next four years, I came to know joy, beauty, and love like never before. It was fantastic. Yet with those emotions came crushing sorrow and defeat around every corner, as well. The first boy I ever kissed may have caused me to cry, but the first boy I ever loved put me through multiple deep, gut-wrenching heartbreaks.

The first girls who ever included me in their circle eventually stabbed me in the back and left me on my own once more. The one sport I fell in love with and became successful at was not always kind to me either, whether I battled injury, fatigue, or just plain doubt. Throughout my four years of high school, for everything wonderful and beautiful I have experienced, a sorrowful and crushing experience went right along with it. But that in and of itself captures the beauty of the experience as a whole.

Today, as I sit at the precipice of graduation, staring down the rest of my life, I am happy. And I am not happy because I transformed into a “cool kid.” Nor am I happy because everything in life is going great. No.

Rather, I am happy because in my past 18 years of living I have proven time and time again to myself that I am strong. I am beautiful. I am kind. I am funny, I am deserving, I am smart, and I am a person who adds value to this world.

Today, I am happy because I know who I am, and I love who I am. Some days are tough. Other days are easy. Some, I simply persist. But with every day that I add to my life, I gain more character and more story to tell. That is part of what makes life worth living.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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