This is the start of year 2 of my blog, and I feel the need to to tell you all that year 2 is way more rough and raw than year 1. I write about some things that could be triggering. I write about things that will make you uncomfortable. I’m unabashedly frank about things that others would sweep under a rug and never speak about. But, that’s me. I hope you enjoy it – or, at least – grow from it.

This post is also available as a podcast here: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/s-p01/episodes/She-Used-to-be-Mine-e2djteg

A new year often causes people to set goals for the year. We reflect on the years past and start with our best attempt at fresh eyes with new goals. We seek to better ourselves somehow. So, I thought I would spend my first post of 2024 on a returning to self post. There’s a meme about how our thirties are for unlearning all the socialization and repression we took on, and by 40 we return to our weird childhood-selves. I’m using the title from a Sara Bareilles song in Waitress because the song resonates with a similar idea: reclaiming our self.

I was a weird kid. I mean, we’re all weird in our own ways, but I would stand out as a weird kid. I still embrace aspects of my weird kid self because they make me happy. I love bright colors and I have no concerns for matching my wardrobe. Perhaps the 80s helped, but the colors bring me so much joy. I like goofiness; I love harmless humor. My favorite meme has a picture of bananas flying through the air, and it just says “Bananas: thousands of them!” Harmless flying fruit; hysterical.

So, let’s dig deep on this for a minute. What were you teased about as a kid that you lost? (I know, I know… terrible question.) I’ll give you some of mine. I mentioned that I wore dresses every day in elementary school. I got teased for it a lot, but I loved dresses. In the first few years, it didn’t do much, but over the years I stopped wearing dresses. Eventually, I got to a point where I refused to wear dresses. I remember looking in the mirror in high school at myself in a dress, conflicted.

In junior high, my outcast status got to me. I ate lunch alone in the quad. There were little nooks in the quad where I could curl up next to the building by myself to eat my lunch. No friends to speak of, at another new school, I was bullied constantly. I eventually built friends, but they were all themselves outcast. They all smoked cigarettes they stole from their parents; I never smoked in junior high. I was the outcast of the outcasts. I was too “pure” to be one of them, but I was outcast from everyone else, so they were the only ones that would hang out with me. I liked them, though. I think this period of my life taught me that good people come from all walks of life. Not to look at someone’s appearance or upbringing, but to look at their heart. That’s what really matters.

Junior high was my lowest point. 13 is a hard year for any child, but most 13 year olds can’t say they had peers threaten their life verbally and then physically assault them for existing at a new school. Most 13 year olds have a safe home to go back to (I think?), friends they can hang out with, and most of all: they don’t attempt suicide. I did a poor job; I left scars, but I didn’t bleed enough to risk my life. I failed at the one path I felt my life always led to: death. Worse, I was ridiculed and harassed for my scars. I wanted to end my life more after the attempt than I had before. Art and dumb luck are the only things that saved me. I had no reinvestment in life, I just lived it from then on. This is hand in hand with my lack of value in myself through most of my life. Having my own child awoke a newfound investment in life for me.

I don’t know what it’ll be for you, but the realization that I wanted to have children changed my life. It became my core need, and when I became a parent I reclaimed the little one inside me, too. For my child, and for me. The bright colors came back, the goofy play came back, and a desire to live my life for me – came out. Having my child taught me my value and gave me purpose outside of my career. I was one of those classic people that thought their only value to the world was what they could do for others. All my energy was spent on climbing higher and being better at everything. Being a parent taught me that who I am to my child is the most important version of myself in this life. The only way to be my best self was to embrace who I am, what I love, and be present in each moment with them.

This week’s story is about me as a child, naturally.

I, apparently, went to Disney World when I was very young. I honestly think it was in Florida – so it was Disney World – but I’ve also heard this story told as Disneyland. So, okay. The only thing I remember from it was a submarine. A yellow submarine that I could go inside and look at pictures and hear songs. I don’t remember anything else. I don’t remember the toy I had to have from the gift shop, or the rides, or who we were with. I just remember the submarine.

My grandma remembered my reaction to flamingos; she was so tickled that she told that story for decades after. I called them “Pingos.” Cue the flamingo-themed gifts that my grandmother gave me over the years. I went through an “I hate pink”-phase for a while, but I always kept the flamingo gifts. Somehow that little connection with my grandma was important to me. I still have some of them, and I don’t hate pink anymore. Young children are the best. They remind me of the deepest, purest parts of myself. Where else do you get such a loving and cute memory, like Pingos? I love my pingos, in memory of my grandmother.

Life has a way of changing us, but our core is still inside us all. I hope you find it, because that’s the key to loving yourself and life, again, if you’ve forgotten.

Hugs and Love, -S.