For Abbie

I remember being ten.
 
I remember not being satisfied with anything about me.
My hair wasn't blond enough, it wasn't long enough, it wasn't straight enough, but wasn't curly enough.
My eyes were brown.  I wanted blue eyes, or green.
I had huge freckles.
I thought my feet were too big, and I was too tall.
I was positive that my stomach was bigger than every one else's.
I felt that I wasn't smart enough, even though I was in the gifted and talented program.
I didn't think I was pretty.
I thought I was fat.
My teeth had gaps and were crooked.
I hated me.

Self image wasn't talked about then.  I didn't have anyone to share my feelings with.  I wouldn't have said anything anyway.  I wanted everyone to think I was in control.  I wanted everyone to think I was perfect.

I could tell you that this all got better in a few years.  But for me, the insecurities lasted into my thirties.  Not all of them, but it took me a long time to come to terms with my body.

What I have learned is:

My hair is never going to be perfect.  I change the color, the cut, whether it is straight, wavy, or curly.  I have fun with my hair now.
My eyes are brown and that is okay.  They are actually quite expressive and one of my better features.
My freckles actually aren't as bad as they used to be.  Not as big or dark.  Now, I think they are cute.
My feet are the size they should be in order for me to be as tall as I am.  I like how tall I am now.
My stomach is now bigger than some, smaller than others.  I could exercise and make it smaller, but I am happy with how I look.  People who really matter to me are happy with how I look too.
I am smart enough.  There are smarter people than me, and that is okay.  There are also people out there not as smart as me.  So long as I can do what I need to do, then I am good.
Pretty is so objective.  I have good days and bad days with that.  So long as I am pretty on the inside, then I am happy.  I would hate to be someone who people said was ugly inside.
I am not really fat.  I am out of shape.  Again, I could exercise, and I do sometimes, but it is just not my focus.  I think that so long as I am healthy, then I am all right.
The summer before eighth grade, I got braces.  They are still straight, with a tiny, little gap between my two front teeth.  It adds character.
I don't hate me anymore.  I am the best me I know how to be.  I can look in the mirror and say, Yeah, you're all right.

I still need to be in control, but I don't think that is a bad thing.  I don't need to be perfect.  No one can be perfect. Everyone has something that they don't like about themselves.  It just usually doesn't matter that much.

I know that I am not alone in my feelings.  I wasn't when I was ten, and I am not now.