Reflections of Me

At times, it is infinitely easier to pick myself apart than it is to build myself up.  Picking at and dissecting flaws is routine and mundane.  Sure, it can hurt in the long run, but in the moment, isn't it just so much simpler to decide things you would want to change, rather than reflect on things you wouldn't touch? 

I spend a lot of time writing with false positivity.  I tell myself that my audience won't read if the post is pure misery.  Maybe there is truth to that.  After all, the world can seem pretty bleak right now, so why add a college girl's self-contempt into the mix?

So I will spare you that.  Life has highs and lows.  I have moments of extreme pride and moments of crushing shame.  With every up there is a down.  The circle of life goes on... all that poetic stuff yada yada yada .

Full disclosure the inspiration for this post came from a TikTok trend.  

Five year old me would be absolutely crushed to know that I am not a princess.  After all, to her, twenty-two was a lifetime away.  It was a very reasonable goal.  She would probably be pleased to know that I do own a princess tiara, even if it is still crusty with fake blood from my Carrie costume.  

Eight year old me would be incredibly confused by my ability to walk into crowded rooms without shaking.  She would probably tell me I got the wrong bar, the wrong house, the wrong building.  I think she would be proud though.  Social situations that used to seem impossible are only troubling every now and then.  

Twelve year old me would scream with joy if I told her that not only was I still doing theater, but I was thriving in it.  She was so nervous to audition for her first musical that she almost didn't.  Being cast in college productions in leading roles?  I am living her dream.  She would want me to appreciate that more.  

Thirteen year old me would roll her eyes when she saw my bangs.  I mean, she just started growing them out, and I ruined all of her hard work.  However, she would be pleased to know that people actually like my bangs now that I don't have a bowl cut to go with it.  

Fourteen year old me would be devastated to know that I am not model thin yet.  To be honest, I wish I could tell her I no longer care.  That would be a huge, unfortunate lie.  I don't know how to tell her that I haven't accepted my body yet.  But I am working on it, so maybe that is enough.  

Sixteen year old me would be so disappointed at how slowly I bounce back from the things that hurt me.  She would tell me to grow thick skin, while never actually mending her own scars.  

Sixteen year old me would give me a real solid high five for never getting in a car crash. 

Seventeen year old me would be thrilled to know that quitting soccer didn't ruin my life in the long run.  Sure, it hurt in the moment, and I lost a decent amount of friends, but it allowed me to take a step back and get through AP Chem.  She would also be overjoyed to know that I haven't touched a math problem since high school.

Eighteen year old me would think I am pretty.  She would love my ability to do winged eyeliner in 20 seconds flat now.  She would cry real happy tears knowing that I dye my hair to be an actual brunette, not just that weird in-between-mousy-brown.  She would be shocked that I occasionally get flirted with.  She would probably hate that I never actually do anything with that.  

Twenty year old me would be ecstatic to know that I have a cat now.  She would be understanding that I had to, or else my depression would have become too much.  She would smile that therapy has been helping.  She would probably be a little sad to know that I am still not really all that okay.  But she would get it.  

I have spent nearly twenty-two years on this planet.  I have a lifetime of regrets.  I have a lifetime of joys.  I have so many moments I would want to replay, and just as many that I want to totally forget.  The other day, in another typical moment of self-hatred I took a moment and just imagined looking 6 year old me in the eye and telling her all the things I tell myself.  She would be devastated.  I don't want that for her, and by default that means I don't want that for myself.  So yeah, sometimes I lie about positivity.  But I owe it to myself to mix in moments of authentic pride alongside the valid complaints.  

Here is to the journey, 

Sam