On Confidence

When I was a little kid I had a shit ton of confidence. I was the little five year old that would run up to some random kid and be like “HEY! Let’s play dinosaurs, I’ll be the pterodactyl (insert pterodactyl noise here)” and then would continue to chase them around until we were best friends. I looked at everybody, waved at everybody and talked to everybody. I never thought “Oh gosh what is this person thinking about me” and I never thought “Oh shit I really need to stop wearing overalls”. I just did my thing and loved myself like my parents taught me to and loved life. When you’re little you have no worries, or at least I didn’t.

Then I got older, as we all do. With middle school came a lot more pressure than elementary school, but I kept my confidence. I remained friends with all my friends from middle school, made new friends from across town and my grades remained A’s and B’s. I did basketball, soccer, softball, band, newspaper, student council, you name it. I was confident in what I did. I wrote creative stories in language arts and always shared them with the class because I didn’t care if anyone didn’t like them. Because I did. I was simple. And weird. I wore boy’s Gap clothing until I was 12. I stupidly refused to wear a bra or mess around with make up. I beat up a boy after school for not sharing his football. None of that made me feel bad about myself. It actually made me feel good.

Until I started dating.

You know how dementors eat the souls of the living in the Harry Potter series? It was kind of like that. With every guy I crushed on a little bit more of my pure confidence was sucked out of me until I couldn’t breathe anymore.  To this day I forget to breathe if a boy I like comes anywhere near my face, but things are better.

There were a few dark years for me during the end of middle school. Years where I dramatically and immaturely believed that unhitching my skin from my body with a pair of scissors would make me feel better. More important. More loved. I forgot what confidence was when I started dating boys because they started disrespecting me. I felt unworthy. I felt shy.  I worried about everything and everyone except myself. 

I remember the first time my mother found out that I was cutting myself. I was in eighth grade. I’ve never seen so much hurt and pain and anguish on anyone’s face ever. It was like every scar on my wrists was a fresh wound on her’s. She cried that night. I cried that night. But the tears didn’t cure my disease.

Looking back I know I was stupid for trying to hurt myself. I don’t think I ever wanted to die, exactly but I also don’t think I had the confidence in myself to do it either. It just felt good. I know that seems crazy. Maybe if you’ve gone through it though you know what I am talking about. I liked the feeling basically because I hated the feeling of every day. Of guys hurting me. Of feeling helpless. Of my confidence diminishing to nothing.

High school brought a lot of changes for me. My confidence levels began to grow as I made the varsity soccer team as a freshman and was asked to be on the JV basketball team instead of the freshman team. I made new friends from the town over that really seemed to like me for who I was. I wasn’t dating anyone or messing around with anyone that wasn’t good for me. It was a pretty good year. A year of confidence I needed. I didn’t try and hurt myself. I didn’t feel like I was being attacked by hooded figures sucking about my soul through a bendy straw. I felt like I was finding me.

I started dating a way older boy my sophomore year.  He had graduated the year before. Nothing against him, he really wasn’t a still isn’t a bad guy. We’ve had our share of ups and downs. But now I am realizing it was honestly the worst thing I could have done to my recovering confidence. I found that I was only happy when I was making him happy. That I could only think that time was well spent when I spent it with him. I  got caught up in love songs and love stories and love letters and came to the conclusion that being loved was the only thing on this earth that mattered. And not loved by parents or friends, but by a guy. I felt so naively confident with him, but felt like shit when he was gone. There was a false sense of stability in my world as long as he was there.

And then, after two and a half years, he cheated on me.  

I was a senior in high school. We were planning a life together (looking back it makes me want to punch myself in the face). I was crushed. Not just because of the betrayal, but because of the feeling of emptiness I had inside. I thought I wasn’t good enough. My one source of confidence was gone.

I have based my life off of that statement ever since. Every time something bad happened to me or I didn’t make the team or the grade or the friend I would justify it with “I’m not good enough, of course I didn’t get what I want“. And I was content with that. I had never given confidence a thought. Well, for my friends, yes. I was constantly giving them advice to believe in themselves but I couldn’t apply the advice to myself because I was just so sure that I was never good enough for anything I wanted and never would be. 

I sold myself short in future relationships both friendly and romantic because I wasn’t good enough. I got average grades my first year of college because I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t get the things I wanted most in life because I simply wasn’t good enough.

I got together again with this boy after his engagement broke off. And it turned out to be the best thing I ever did because I realized something.

I was good enough.

Not for him. I actually left him. I was good enough for me.

For the first time since I was in elementary school, I broke down the barrier of self-doubt and self-hate and dependence on men for a sense of worth. It was like I unleashed a patronus of bad-assery against the forces that were sucking out my confidence. And I was surprised with the results. 

I don’t know what it was exactly, besides possibly the fact of actually beginning to believe in myself and see all my hard work pay off. I had made it into a prestigious honor society, gotten a 4.0, landed an internship, aced an internship interview and received an offer the next day…. I just started focusing on the positives, really. 

I feel like that little 5 year old girl in the overalls running around hissing at people pretending to be a flying dinosaur. I feel like that 11 year old girl running around in basketball shorts and no bra beating up the boys. I feel like me again, for the first time in forever (No Frozen pun intended).

There is a Fall Out Boy song that goes:

“You are what you love, no who loves you”

I try and listen to that song every day, because it teaches something that everyone should know and live their life by. I have found so much happiness in the things I love and gotten rid of so much sadness by not giving a shit about who loves me. I feel like I can do anything now. I take each day one step at a time and look at my future with a smile, not a question of “who’s going to be loving me then?”

I am a Harry Potter lover, writer, reader, flute player, Dovakhin, worker, coffee lover, xbox player, intern, eater, sleeper, party-er, friend, family member and hobbit and no one can make me feel bad about any of that, because it’s what I love. 

If you go out and find what you love and stop worrying about who loves you, you will be able to do anything. Confidence is one of the greatness gifts God has blessed humans with and if you have it you should never give it up.

 

Harry Potter

My mother started reading Harry Potter to me when I was in second grade. It lasted approximately 10 minutes before she put the book down and vowed to return it to the library the next day. Her reasoning? She couldn’t believe there was a talking cat. But I was quite the  inquisitive young girl and decided to sneak up past my bedtime, find the book and continue reading. From that moment on I became one of the world’s biggest Potterheads and lover of all things harry potter.

I have read all the books (the last 3 the day they came out) multiple times, know just about every line to every movie (and tweet them incessantly as they are said), have been to Harry Potter World at Universal Studios, been to the traveling exposition when it was in NYC, seen both of Daniel Radcliffe’s Broadway plays, have a Pottermore Account, did the Harry Potter Puppet Pals “Mysterious Ticking noise” as my senior year soccer camp skit, sung “Harry Potter in 99 Seconds” for my high school’s talent show (but unfortunately was beat out for third place by a DJ), purchased multiple wands (my favorite is Ginny’s), and even got a harry potter tattoo. I mean, I really love Harry Potter.

Over the years I have gotten a lot of shit for this passion of mine. Many of my peers in high school made fun of me for dressing up in a cloak and glasses for the premieres of the movies and knowing every line to all the movies. I was often the only one that noticed the differences between the books and the movies and was made fun of for highlighting them. I remember one time senior year, after I had done the talent show, when a girl in the grade younger than me looked at me and said “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time?”. And you know what I told her? I said “Honestly I don’t”.

There is nothing better than Harry Potter. Harry Potter is more than a silly series about something that could never happen. It is an escape for everyone who needs one. I grew up with these stories. As Harry aged so did I, and as the stories began to get darker and darker my understanding of myself became richer and fuller. Harry wasn’t just a character in a book, as many other Potterheads will understand. He was a role model. He was a guide. He was the perfect example of everything a young adult should want to be. He gave up his life for his friends and more importantly the world and he always believed that those he loved and lost were with him in spirit. He went through bullying, abuse and torture and still was able to do good. He should be an inspiration to us all, really. The book wasn’t even a book. It was something more than that. It was a universe that we all wanted to exist. It was home.

The most shit I get for liking Harry Potter is when someone sees my tattoo. It is a Deathly Hallows tattoo and it rests on the center of my chest just between my breasts [I’ll include a pic at the end of this post]. It’s not a very large tattoo, but it represents the most important part of who I am. For those of you muggles that are not familiar with the story of the Deathly Hallows and the Three Brothers, a wizarding fairy tale, I will quickly fill you in (if you know it feel free to skip):

Basically there were three wizarding brothers who came to a very full and dangerous river that they knew they could not cross safely. So, being wizards, they took out their wands and crafted a bridge and basically cheated death because travelers would normally drown in the river. So once they made it across death appeared and pretended to praise the three brothers for tricking him and offered them each a gift of whatever they wanted, knowing their desires would probably put them in an early grave. The eldest brother asked for the most powerful wand and so death gave him the elder wand. The second brother asked for a way to have his late fiance returned to him from the grave so death gave him a Resurrection stone. The third brother, who was much more humble than the rest, simply asked for a way to be hidden from death until he was ready. Death reluctantly gave him his own cloak of invisibility. As their lives go on, the three gifts, or the Deathly Hallows, impact their lives very greatly. The first brother kills a powerful wizard he once had a quarrel with but by doing this gives away the power of his wand. He is killed in his sleep that night by someone who steals the wand. The second brother gets his fiance back but she does not belong in this world and so he kills himself. Death has the two brothers quickly but for a long time he cannot find the third. The third brother gets married, has a child and passes the cloak along to him when he is ready. He meets death as an old friend and the story is over.

The story of the Deathly Hallows has a moral message that many people miss when reading and especially while watching Harry Potter. If you want power and abilities beyond human comprehension, then you will be consumed by them. Like Lord Voldemort or even Dumbledore who’s sister died as a result for his quest for power. But, if you are humble and want peace, like Harry, you will be happy and live a fulfilling life. I got this tattoo for that reason as well as the fact that I want to be like Harry. I have always lived in a sacrificial way towards my friends. I would do anything for them, even die for them as Harry did.

Harry Potter isn’t just a story about wizards and dragons, it’s a story about life. And it’s a mold that I want my life to fit in. My tattoo is a reminder of this manner in which I want to live in case I ever get caught up in something that is not me or behave like a Slytherin. Harry Potter will forever be my inspiration and my home. As Albus Dumbledore says: “Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times if one only remembers to turn on the light”

 

My tattoo 🙂

 

On tattoos

Getting my tattoo was probably one of the best decisions of my life. Sure, it was a little less than a year ago but there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t look down on my chest and smile at the ink that rests on my skin. The little symbol is a constant reminder to me of how I want to live my life and what is truly important in life. It makes me happy. That should be what matters, right?

Apparently I have been wrong in that assumption. I’ve gotten a lot of offensive and annoying questions after showing people the newest piece of my identity that I love so very much. Some of the people that I thought were my friends asked questions like “What does it mean?” “Why did you get it?” “How much did it cost?” “What is it going to look like when you’re old?” “There? Why did you get it there?”. The funny thing is, the answers to none of those questions even matter. Why didn’t anyone ask me if I LOVED it?

If I love my tattoo that is ALL THAT MATTERS. People who get tattoos do not get them for their friends or their co-workers or the public: they get them for themselves! Tattoos make the wearer happy. They make them stronger. They make them feel more beautiful and more like themselves. Their permanency is a gift, not a hindrance. It’s forever beauty, a constant reminder, an ever-lasting truth.

That is why people get tattoos. If you do not like tattoos or a certain tattoo on a certain person, there is nothing wrong with that. There is, however, something very wrong with you spreading negative energy to someone who likes the design and the meaning so much that they got it engraved in their skin for eternity. I wish people could focus more on being positive towards others and critical of themselves.

The winds are changing, though. More and more often now I am seeing people proudly boasting their tattoos, most of which are truly beautiful piece of art. My hope is that one day no one asks “What does it mean?” and instead simply thinks “That is a beautiful piece of you”.

 

On normalcy

When you’re a kid you are the most you you’ll ever be. You dress how you want, play with who you want, watch what TV show you want, eat what you want. You get to do the things that you most want to do. You get to pursue the passions that are most appealing to you. And yet somehow, in the process of growing up, you move away from those things that you enjoy doing so much. Yes, I know that as we grow we take on more responsibilities like school work, chores, relationship maintenance… and therefore there is less time to do what we want. Yet responsibility isn’t the tide that’s carrying you away.

Stereotypes are something that we like to pretend don’t exist anymore. The extreme representations of jocks, preps, weirdos, nerds and trouble makers that we saw in the Breakfast Club seem comical to us now. I went to high school with kids who deny there were stereotypes at all. Maybe it’s because they have all been swept away from what they like and who like love and what they are and mixed together into one, large “normal”.

Normalcy is important to some people. Wearing the same clothes as everyone else is seen as normal. Buying and listening to the same music as everyone else is normal. Starving yourself or taking supplements to be the same size as everyone is normal. Hanging out with all the other “normals” is normal.

Unfortunately rarely a person seems to notice that “normal” is not normal.

If we were all meant to be the same, we would all have the exact same DNA. We would have the same musical, entertainment, and social preferences. And if you’ve made it this far in your life without realizing the impossibility of that “normal” than I feel very sorry about you.

Being yourself can be one of the hardest yet most rewarding things you will ever do in your life. Getting back to that childlike ability to enjoy the things you truly enjoy, without caring what anyone else thinks, is a true beauty in life. It comes with costs. You may be branded weird. You may have less friends. But you are rewarded with a truth that many others can’t find.

When I was in high school I had a hard time accepting this truth .I wanted to be liked by the other girls, lusted after by the boys, invited to all the big parties. But as a grew from a freshman to a senior I realized those wants were all wrong, for me at least. I realized that watching the Harry Potter movies so many times that I memorized all the words was more fun to me than watching any “normal” movie. I understood that hanging out with my best friend, even though she was branded weird for liking different people, bands and fashions was more important than a thousand fake friends.I learned that playing in the band was more fulfilling than partying all the time.

In this day and age, being yourself is a sacrifice. While I hope that one day it becomes normal, it still isn’t. But I urge you to find the things you love and stick with them. Don’t take the easy road and follow everyone else. Fight the current til you make it ashore. Because if you do, you’ll realize the things you sacrificed weren’t sacrifices at all but small victories in the battle for you.

Has anyone ever really wanted to be referred to as normal?

I hope not.