I was a slow passenger on the “Glee” train. It seemed silly and poorly written and, to be honest, one more show I didn’t get cast in. I pushed against it for the first half of the first season. Then my best friend, who rarely gets behind anything popular, starting watching it with his kids and talking with me about it. Then FB people started talking. And Twitter. Soon I was surrounded by the show and eventually I sat and watched an episode. And then another. And I found I really liked it. I do not consider myself a Gleek by any means, but I am a fan. And I subscribe to it on hulu.
This week I am catching up on my Glee episodes. I just finished watching “Born This Way” where the students are given the task to write something on their blank white t-shirts they are ashamed of or would like to change about themselves. The goal is for them to accept their flaws as part of the perfect package that they are. I watched the final dance number, where they actually sing Lady Gaga’s song and reveal what their shirt says. Got me wondering what my t-shirt would say.
At 32 there are parts of me that I truly love. I love my ability to plan a good party and gather people together to enjoy themselves. I love that I am someone my friends come to when they need advice or help with something because they trust my judgement. I love that I make people laugh. I love that I have great relationships in my life that I have worked hard to nurture and enjoy. I love my legs. I love my wrists and my hands. I love my cheek bones and my clavicle. I love that I remember birthdays and send holiday cards. I love that I love Valentine’s Day. I love that I have an infectious energy that people truly enjoy being around. I love that I over plan and then throw my plans out the window because something else came along. I love that I can cry during an episode of Glee just as easily as the end of a Hallmark commercial. I love that I know my body. I love that I know my God. I truly love who I am.
But does my self-acceptance mean I don’t have anything to write on my white shirt? Goodness no. I wouldn’t know how to pick just one thing, when I start thinking about it. What would I change about me? I would give myself more confidence when faced with skinny beautiful women who are secure in themselves. Eventually I get around to it and we become friends. But initially? The husky 15-yr-old who never got picked for lifts in her dance company comes out and tells me I’m too fat/ugly/boxy/plain to be liked by someone as cool as they are.
I would give myself larger, more picture perfect breasts. I’m not going to lie, it’s something I truly believe I would be happier with. I would give myself flat abs and a waistline. I would change how I jump to conclusions before I think it out. I would change my inability to just forget, and the need to punish until I feel justified. I would change my barely there discipline and lack of will power. I would change my hoarding tendencies and make me a cleaner person.
I would change my desperate need to be loved and seen as unique and irreplaceable.
Yet, even as I write this post, I am smiling because I know in my heart that all of these things make me who I am. And I love who I am. That’s not just greeting card wisdom. Without my low self esteem I wouldn’t work so hard to be fit and pretty and liked. I wouldn’t work so hard to better myself and be the best I can be. If I had larger breasts I might not enjoy running and would never have that amazing feeling of crossing the finish line of a marathon. I can get flat abs, if I work hard enough. That change goes along with the lack of discipline and will power. Both things that I can do better about. Jumping to conclusions means I’m a fast thinking and able to make anything from anything. I’m like the MacGyver of emotions. My inability to forgive and forget allows me to have constant vigilance in relationships and be a present and loving partner. (Let’s be honest, I could probably work on this one a little more.) The collecting and cleanliness are both habits I can work on. They aren’t in stone.
And the need to be loved and seen as irreplaceable? My desire for that fuels most of what I do. I need to be loved. I need to be adored. I need to feel useful and important and like I matter in this world. I need to be present and accounted for. I need to be everything. This need keeps me up until 2a working on Christmas presents, out until all hours finding the perfect gift, calling everyone I know to tell them I love them, and working harder and harder every day to make sure no time here is wasted. It is important to me that I be the best person I can be.
So what would my white t-shirt say?
- Neurotic
- Small Boobs
- Opinionated
- Lazy
- Messy
- Boxy
- Needy
Heck yeah I am. And baby, I was born this way.
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