I never really had the opportunity to be pretty.
In elementary school, I always had fantasies about one day becoming pretty enough to turn heads and be a person who could look good in a photo, for a change. It would have been nice to look at ANY of my old photos and thought, “Aw! What a cute little girl!”
Still hasn’t happened.
In middle school, I was told for the first time, to my face, “You’re UGLY!” Not “ugly” with lowercase characters, but like a vehement stress on the first syllable of the word.
“UG-ly!”
In retrospect, it still doesn’t make me laugh.
In high school, I dared to believe I was JUST cute enough to get noticed for roles on stage, and dare even a boyfriend. There was a boy I REALLY admired, and for a few fleeting moments in any given day, I would allow myself to believe that there was a chance he could one day like me too. Suffice to say, my imagination was precious.
I would dare to venture that there was a brief period of time I was almost a LITTLE pretty right when I turned 24.
Now, at 30, I’ve decided to give up hope of ever becoming “pretty.” It’s just not going to happen. I don’t think, at my age, I can even get away with “cute” anymore.
It’s a good thing I’ve spent my whole life developing my work skills and learning empathy and humor, otherwise I’d be REALLY screwed. These days, I am DAMN talented at starting conversations with strangers, saving me the embarrassment of being “Quiet Ugly Girl in Corner.”
There’s a problem with being “smart, funny, and ugly” though: the world at large tends to put the most value on people who meet that LAST adjective. Literally everything begins with that last adjective. If you are ugly, you have to work THREE TIMES as hard to achieve the same goals as an equally-or-lesser qualified aesthetically pleasing person.
This is the way of life. It sucks.
I want to say that I’m “owning” being the funny, ugly, fat girl.
I want to say that I’m “making being ugly” my own.
I want to be able to say that I’m perfectly happy being ugly while still having my life mostly together.
But I’m not. I’m so not ok with this, that I’m willing to start a sentence with a CONJUNCTION.
This existence sucks, and there’s literally nothing I can do to fight the fact that I will die without ever knowing what it’s like to be “pretty.” I will only know the feeling of being uncomfortable when people look at me, of being awkward for accepting obligation compliments, and of being the most disgusting person in a group photograph.
Oh well. Moving on.
Have you tried getting in shape?
I just stumbled on this website, and I read your post. I know this is a few years later, but I feel compelled to say, I am a much older person than you (male) and have gone through life knowing that I was not blessed with good looks, and I have struggled with weight since childhood. What I can tell you is that I learned to find my strengths, found a wonderful woman to share my life with and have had a moderately rewarding career. I hope that the same can happen for you. I am willing to bet there is something that you excel at, that gives you satisfaction. Please be well. I empathize with looking in the mirror every day and seeing a face that does not measure up to societies’ standard of “good looking”. The hell with it, right?