*Blog Full of Complaints, Truths, and Curse Words* A Millennial's Guide to Being Your-Damn-Self (Part 2)

        So, I have to admit I’m about 25 minutes into being at this coffee shop and I had to mentally prepare myself to start this. Not necessarily because I was dreading it more so because I stayed out until 1 am last night and frankly I’ve been moving slowly all day. Now that the self-hype aspect of my day is out of the way let’s get into this.

            After contemplating for longer than I should have to, I’ve deduced I started this blog four years ago (this fact was also confirmed after checking my archives). It started initially as my online journal, a diary that would attempt to hold me accountable and save me from the hand cramps that induced flashbacks to all the AP essays I wrote back in high school. It then transitioned into an abnormally honest way to process my emotions. What it’s become since then is hard for me to label. Cliched as it may sound this blog is a snapshot of my soul, an honest and unapologetic summary of me. A way for me to archive the growth I’ve experienced over the years. It’s been a hell of a long journey. A mountain range filled with steep and sweaty ascents, boring plateaus, and descents that can be vomit-inducing (if this is your first time on the site you’re probably unware of the projectile-like effects heights tend to cause me). Regardless of the inconsistent characteristics of life I would never go backwards.

I feel like I’m always hearing from young adults how they wish they could go back and do it all over again. I can honestly say I wouldn’t. Not because I didn’t have a pretty fantastic college experience but, because I wouldn’t trade my current self-image for anything. I walked through life for so long feeling like I had to apologize for my appearance. Since I was a young adolescent I constantly compared myself to other girls. I existed in the shadows, afraid of standing out because of the criticism I felt would come. There were so many comments over the years, some from my own family members criticizing my appearance and even though they felt they were coming from a place of love that didn’t make it any easier. Those simple words in my youth left a negative impression that I will forever carry with me.

This piece isn’t about all the shitty things people have said to me in the past. It’s about something so much more than that. I think when I first started writing I truly believed no one would ever read it. Not because it was bad but, seriously cares about how I feel? In the past couple of months I’ve had people come up to me and tell me they love reading my blog and every time I’m truly shocked. Obviously, it’s flattering but, like I said I never imagined anyone would be interested in my musings/run-on sentences. This blog in essence has transformed into a platform of sorts for me. A way in which to communicate ideas I find important. If only one girl reads this and takes away from it that they are beautiful and worthy then it doesn’t matter how many people read it.

If I could say one thing to my 19-year-old self I would say it gets better. I would tell myself to never become complacent. I would yell at myself to never ever stop trying to feel comfortable in your own skin. I think back to where I was back then. The way I viewed myself the rules I had for myself. I would never show my arms. Forget wearing anything tight. I hid my body behind oversized cardigans, A-line dresses, and dark-wash (a color I felt was slimming) jeans. I was afraid of the way I looked because I felt I would never be able to compete with how other girls. I longed to feel “normal” and thinking about this now I realize how fucked up it all was.

I couldn’t even pinpoint when it all changed for me. I don’t even think it was one event. It was a series of decisions I made. I pushed myself to do things that scared the living shit out of me. I realized that Em’s mantra of “Never Settle,” applied to so much more than our education or, the way men treated us. It was something I needed to use on myself. It’s a concept that has universal application. I should never accept someone else’s idea of beauty because their opinion doesn’t matter.

There’s this grocery store I go to in Tallahassee called “Lucky’s.” I swear my friends and I go there like five times a week (they’re like the Disney World version of food for me man). I remember grabbing a box of Mochi and a bottle of wine (a true Friday night staple if there ever was one). I finished checking out and started exiting; I almost ran into this young woman, quickly apologized and did an awkward shuffle to get around her cart. Crossed the street managed not to get run over by any inept college students and started putting my groceries in the back of my car. I turn around after closing my car door to find the girl I almost ran over two feet away from me.

She had stick straight strawberry blonde hair that she’d pulled into high ponytail (I admired the volume because it was beyond the abilities of my own hair). Wearing an oversize baby pink T-shirt and bike shorts; she looked like a typical white girl. Unassuming except for the fervent expression on her face that was forcing her brow to furrow in a way that frankly made me a little nervous. She greeted me normally enough and then phrased a question that caused me to furrow my brow in a similar manner. She seemingly gathered herself, taking a somewhat deep breath and voiced her question “How are you confident?”

 It took me a full five seconds to respond because internally I attempted to figure out the nuances of the question. I wasn’t sure whether it was a snotty “how could you be confident when you look like that,” question or, if she was genuine. My eloquent and stuttered response echoed the confusion of my internal monologue, “I’m sorry…what?”

She wiped a droplet of sweat from her forehead and after adjusting a strand of hair that had blown into her face an explanation was voiced. “I noticed you in the store, wearing that crop top and you just looked so confident.” Her tone had notes of amazement and awe that I was lowkey insulted by initially. She pushed on, “I’ve always felt uncomfortable in my own skin and when you walked by me just now you had this look on your face. I don’t know you just looked really confident.”

Let’s be honest the look she’s referring to is my “Resting Bitch Face,” but aside from that I was starting to understand where she was coming from. I looked into her dark brown eyes and her expression of eager curiosity and I saw myself. Four years ago, I was her. It was this incredible moment where life proved its cyclical nature. I sort of regret my response because it wasn’t quite as articulate as I would have hoped. I told her to do the thing that scares her the most. We talked for a bit longer and then the girl, Liza her name was, walked away.

I’m not sure if I helped her, I highly doubt my mumbled explanation on confidence had any direct effect on her but, it did on me. In that moment I realized how much I’ve grown in the last four years. I always have small moments of self-doubt but, I don’t let it stop me from living my life anymore. I look at myself now, my double chin, my stomach, my thighs, and my arms. I used to see myself and automatically think of all the things I would change. All I see now is a young woman, a girl who accepts herself.

 I will never stop fighting to feel comfortable in my own skin but, I realize now it’s not just me I’m fighting for anymore. Martyrdom aside, I realize self-image is something we as individuals need to deal with on our own. However, beauty is inside of all of us and passion/drive can never be taken from you; always remember that.