Then and Now

The child pictured on the left is 8-year old me. I was in the 3rd grade.

Anyone with knowledge of child psychology will tell you that 3rd grade is a pivotal time in a child’s development, and it certainly was for me. It was the year that I realized I was ugly.

It was the first time I was told that I had a weight problem, it was the first time I was put on a diet where I wasn’t allowed to eat the same things as my sister, it was the first time I realized my teeth were all wrong and that my hair was too.

It’s no coincidence that it was also the first year that I saw a therapist for feelings of low self-esteem. I remember the book my therapist gave me to read that was full of these little pom-pom characters called “warm fuzzies” and attempted to teach me the concept of my own inherent worth: “I’m okay, you’re okay.”

But I wasn’t okay. I was different.

And anyone who has ever been different as a child knows the feelings of separation and loneliness that come with it, no matter how often your parents tell you that being different means you’re going to do something really important one day.

What I love about that smiling little girl in the photo is that she decided to do something about the circumstance she found herself in.

Because 3rd grade was also the year that, in acknowledging to myself that I was never going to get by on my looks, I told myself that I was going to be smart. I told myself that I was going to be funny. And then I got busy being both of those things (that I already inherently was). I learned to shift my own focus to what I had going for me instead of dwelling on the awful things that other kids said to me about my hair, my teeth and my body.

3rd grade was also the year I heard Barry Manilow’s music for the first time. My current therapist, Yoda (my pet name for her because she breaks through the noise in my head with these statements that just blow my mind), says this is why he and his music mean so much to me— because I discovered him at the same time I was discovering myself and my “different-ness.”

My God, I’m so grateful to that little girl.

Because even though I still struggle with negative thoughts about my appearance, I know my inherent worth. And while I often think that I’d love to travel back in time to comfort her and tell her that one day it really does all come together… my guess is that she’d end up comforting me.

This was the book my first therapist gave me.