“Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?”
I think I always knew what the world wanted me to be: pretty, tall, blonde, sexy, smart, sophisticated, sensual, and, in a word, perfect. I can remember thinking the “Like a Virgin” version of Madonna was the hottest and coolest girl I had ever seen. Like every other girl in America I went out and bought a gazillion Jelly Bracelets and mesh crop tops. That was our “uniform.” I wore it religiously. Only, it didn’t make me any of the things that would make me perfect.
Fast forward to the Spice Girls. Oh Lord, who didn’t like them? Their songs were sublimely catchy and made most people want to, want to, want to, want to, want to zigazig ah. I adored Scary Spice the most. She exuded power and sex appeal. Her fierceness made me proud to be a girl. I held my head a little taller and sang her songs like a badass! I bought the new uniform that would make me perfect: camo pants, Dr Marten boots, animal print anything, and huge earrings. And my hair? I HAD to get the wild look, so off to the salon for a perm. Now I was fierce and powerful and sexy. (HA!) And still I wasn’t perfect.
It was at this point that I stopped emulating anyone, no matter how beautiful or alluring they were. It didn’t matter, I figured, I would never look like them, anyway. I worked with what I had and that was that. It took many years to get to the point where I just don’t care what others think about me. It’s a great burden lifted off my shoulders, though. Now I just care what *I* think about me.
I’m 41 now. I’ve been through a difficult divorce. I’ve struggled with depression my whole life. I have Mixed Connective Tissue Disease, Rheumatoid Arthritis, and Fibromyalgia. My LONG term boyfriend / fiance’ broke up with me 13 days before my birthday, I have no children, my stomach is scarred from a failed Crap Band (Lap Band), and I’m overweight. And most importantly, my mother is facing breast cancer for the second time….
There are far more important things in this life than being perfect. No one is perfect. I’d love to find a man to love. But, God, if you’re listening, please don’t make him perfect. I can’t handle perfection. Just make him perfect for me.