I'm never going to be That Girl.
Which girl?
Many girls. I'm never going to be any of them.
I'm never going to be someone whose entire life revolves around motherhood. I love my daughter, and I love being a mother, but I'm never going to be That Mom.
Nor am I ever going to be That Wife. Or any wife, for that matter. I have no inclination to get married, and I will not take my husband's last name if I do. I am no one's arm candy.
I'm never going to be That Cute Girl. Small, adorable, and loved by all. I'm large and surly. I don't know how to respond sometimes. My introvertedness shuts down conversations like a health inspector shuts down rat-infested restaurants.
I'm never going to be That Hot Chick. I haven't the faintest clue how to be sexy, and I'm not sure I'd be comfortable attracting that kind of attention. I don't actually like strangers looking at me. I'd rather be cute than hot, and I'm not any good at being cute.
I'm never going to be That Cool Girl either. I'm a mess. My calm face belies the turbulence that boils beneath, and though I may smile and nod at you for now, you can be assured that I will go home and postmortem our conversation with my best friend down to the minutest detail.
I'm not any of those Girls.
What I am:
contemplative
never quick to pick on sarcasm because 99% of the time I'm very serious and sincere
daydreamy
uncomfortable not in my own skin, but in the masks I have to wear
constantly searching for kindred spirits
lonely
distrustful
someone who internalizes everything and self-blames
someone who wants "to love, and to love, and to love, and to love"
more apt to wish good things for everyone else than for herself
I can never be That Girl.
I just... AM. I exist.
Which girl?
Many girls. I'm never going to be any of them.
I'm never going to be someone whose entire life revolves around motherhood. I love my daughter, and I love being a mother, but I'm never going to be That Mom.
Nor am I ever going to be That Wife. Or any wife, for that matter. I have no inclination to get married, and I will not take my husband's last name if I do. I am no one's arm candy.
I'm never going to be That Cute Girl. Small, adorable, and loved by all. I'm large and surly. I don't know how to respond sometimes. My introvertedness shuts down conversations like a health inspector shuts down rat-infested restaurants.
I'm never going to be That Hot Chick. I haven't the faintest clue how to be sexy, and I'm not sure I'd be comfortable attracting that kind of attention. I don't actually like strangers looking at me. I'd rather be cute than hot, and I'm not any good at being cute.
I'm never going to be That Cool Girl either. I'm a mess. My calm face belies the turbulence that boils beneath, and though I may smile and nod at you for now, you can be assured that I will go home and postmortem our conversation with my best friend down to the minutest detail.
I'm not any of those Girls.
What I am:
contemplative
never quick to pick on sarcasm because 99% of the time I'm very serious and sincere
daydreamy
uncomfortable not in my own skin, but in the masks I have to wear
constantly searching for kindred spirits
lonely
distrustful
someone who internalizes everything and self-blames
someone who wants "to love, and to love, and to love, and to love"
more apt to wish good things for everyone else than for herself
I can never be That Girl.
I just... AM. I exist.