When I was ten years old, I had absolutely remarkable self-esteem, which I don’t remember possessing at any other time in my life. I have no idea why. I wasn’t the most attractive kid. My hair was a blonde frizzy mess, my teeth were virtually deformed, and I managed to be so skinny my ribs poked out, but my stomach (as always) remained soft and pudgy. I had good friends, but would certainly not be confused with one of the “cool kids”. I had some pretty average talents….actually, some were even slightly above average, but I never considered myself better than anyone else. I was decidedly me, and very happy to be just that.
If I had a chance to talk to myself at that age, I would tell myself to hold on to that confidence. Or at least 90% of it.
Ever since that time, I remember battling with self esteem. Once sixth grade came around, I became less and less sure of myself. I got braces, glasses, but no boobs. At age ten I had had a role in the school play that became a stand out performance not because I was incredibly talented, but because I was fearless, threw myself into the role, and sang with my whole heart and a little skill. By seventh grade I had developed a bit of stage fright. I went from being happy with my friends to getting upset when people teased me about my inability to wear make up, and I felt weird around boys. I went from loving sports to dreading the pressure I felt on the field and from my father. The one thing that somewhat remained was my faith in my brain, and even then slowly diminished over time. Now, even things I say with certainty I inwardly question. Google both helps and hurts with that.
Maybe it was just that transition from childhood to adulthood, although even as a child I don’t remember being so amazingly confident. I almost always was – and still am – perfectly comfortable being different from the rest of the crowd, as long as it’s on my own terms. But sometimes I am absolutely awed by myself at that age, when I did crazy things that now would never even cross my mind. I was just so happy to be me, and alive, and didn’t need validation from anyone, really.
If I could talk to that girl, I would tell her to hold on to that feeling, that firm belief that “I am fine just the way I am”, and moreover, everyone else is fine the way they are, too. (Unless they say or do something ignorant in mean, in which case they deserve a punch in the face. That was me at age ten, too.) If I could talk to other girls at that age, I would tell them the same thing. The years that follow are extremely difficult for boys and girls, and they end up being wrought with insecurities. I want to tell them to stay strong, and hold on to that childish innocence that sees the good in everything.
Especially in themselves.