I hate the internets, yo. Hate’em.
I was perfectly content propped
up in my bed, trolling social media, with my Riesling and dark chocolate. I had
two salads today. I don’t need your judgment. #thishereblogismyhereblog
 |
| I took this in Europe in 2005. Dove stole this idea. LOL |
Earlier in the day, a FB
friend posted a link. There was an advertisement
that attempted to show “real” women, as Victoria’s Secret made an effort, but
uh… …nah. And there were all those kinda good feelings. That maybe a body type
that is still nicer than mine, but it kinda closer to mine is something to be
celebrated. Let the church say amenT.
I mean, I have PTSD about
Victoria’s Secret. Did you know that in my adult
I-Got-My-Own-Money-Even-Though-This-Is-A-Student-Loan-Refund life I have only
been able to purchase fragrances and the occasional pair of panties from
Victoria’s Secret? I was in college at UCLA, right? Went down to the Westside Pavilion
I think it was… Everybody is getting fitted for bras. The chick looks at me,
looks down at her measuring tape, looks back at me and hits me with the We don’t carry your size. I’m
like, but uh, you didn’t even size me? And
she looks back down at her measuring tape like, Uh,
trust me, I’ve done the research.
So, eFF Victoria and her janky
secrets. You wanna know the secret? She sucks!
And thank you for that
advertisement. It made me smile.
I pretty much forgot about
that enlightening moment because I was at work and meetings just had to happen.
I went about my day. Bought as much discounted Easter candy as my reusable
shopping bags could hold, then retreated to my place of solitude.
It could all be so simple. I
tend to make things harder. Me loving me is like a battle. I imagine if you
thought about it long enough, you’d find out that you made some stuff really
difficult too.
.jpg) |
| You already know I'm going in the purple one. |
All they had to do was choose
a door. The damn thing was glass. You could see inside. Both entrances led to
the same place. But that one word above the threshold gave that door handle so
much power. Made it just unattainable enough, that you had to face those inside
demons, on the outside, before going inside.
Dammit.
I might have failed that test
had that been me. I know that I’m average, I don’t believe that I am beautiful.
I believe that other people believe I am beautiful. I’m average, with some
beautiful moments. Like, I have to put work into beautiful, because I wake up every
day exactly like this…flawed...and all. Some days there
are less flaws than others, but ya girl got issues, bruh. Issues.
But I’m a hypocrite. Of the
worse kind, because it’s so obvious, but it takes social science experiments like
this one to figure it out. I have been walking around telling people that everything is about choice. Not
worrying about others, but understanding your own. Accepting the choices you
make. Learning them, and from them. Growing from them. Being content, or at the
very least, finding peace with them.
And there is nothing about me
that is content or at peace with being average. How can I not be great? How can
I not be beautiful? I am my Daddie's daughter. I am the
progeny of a great man and beautiful woman. I carry a legacy steeped with
intelligence, righteousness, creativity and passion. And that’s just in the
name I was given.
It’s the
baggage. In talking to someone stuck in the mire of a
relationship that ended with someone else’s choice, I realized that I too am
damaged. Sure I knew this before that conversation, but it was pretty damn
clear. Of the relationships and situationships that have ended – they were all
choices, typically not mine…one, of recent had nothing to do with my insides,
but completely about my outside. What that person saw when they saw me. The
door that person would usher me through. The same door I would have chosen.
 |
| Imma stop letting these words bring me down. |
That’s the incredible power of
choice. The power of our own choices. And the oftentimes debilitating power we
give the choices of others – no matter our understanding of them. Because Lord
knows I don’t understand his. Even though his choice isn’t mine to understand.
I could literally, figuratively, mentally, and spiritually, fix what was
damaged by choosing the Beautiful door. Yet, I spend most of my time affirming
his choice. Seeing what he saw.
Something, people around don’t
even see.
A man told me this weekend
that there was something about me that drew him in. Caused people to desire to
be around me. To seek me out. To do whatever they can, give whatever they have
to be in my gravitational field.
…and there I am, in front of
the building, conflicted. #ForShame
