I can’t name these three objects until the end or most people will call me shallow and exit stage left from my page. What I will say is that it’s hard to be a fugly tween and teen, especially when you’re a female.
I remember being mistaken for my dad’s son and not his daughter around the age of maybe eleven, by the salesman at a used car lot. How embarrassing. That moment lives in my brain partly because yeah, looking back, it’s funny, but also it really sucked.
I was always a short hair kinda gal, even throughout high school and beyond. I didn’t see myself fitting into that put-your-makeup-on-every-morning routine. I wasn’t one of THOSE girls. I had this foolish idea that I wanted people to like me for me.
I say that with tongue in cheek but seriously a bit of makeup and some thought into my hair wouldn’t have hurt.
I didn’t think of myself as ugly, necessarily, but for some reason all through high school I only ever had one boyfriend and that was for six months I think. I was doing something wrong, I just wasn’t sure what.
In my late twenties I decided I’d had enough of short hair and I started growing it. Not just growing it but styling it. I started experimenting with makeup. I loved the results.
Today I’m not ashamed to say that my faith, hope and love are my liquid eyeliner, hairspray and dye to keep the grey away.
I’m happy for people who go au naturel and I’m happy for those enhancing with botox or those eyelashes that are so large they cause wind when you blink.
You do you. I’m doing me.
bloom.planted.north 
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