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“She’ll never be an athlete or anything, but she tries,” said the P.E. teacher to my mom as I stood there beside them, holding back my tears.
My mom laughed and hugged me. “She prefers reading over exercise!”
The P.E. teacher nodded and smiled in a condescending, knowing way as if she was the world’s leading expert on interest in exercise. “The bookworms aren’t usually the most sporty of the lot.”
They always saw me as unacceptable.
My hair was too frizzy. My hips too wide. My skin too dark.
My personality too boring. My weight too much.
I was too much and too little at the same time.
Growing up being told I was never good enough broke me. I saw myself as ugly for years. I shied away from getting my picture taken. I tried to make myself smaller. I tried to avoid taking up any space. I didn’t think anyone would ever love me because of how inadequate I thought I was.
Growing up looking unacceptable meant constant criticism hurled from all sides. It meant suffering in silence under the weight of too many opinions.
