"The reason you can't dive is because of your back fat"

The summer I turned 12 years old, I spent a lot of time at the local swimming pool. There was always something so calming about the water, whether it was the pool, the lake, the river. Playing in and being surrounded by water made me so comfortable. Being that comfortable was not a luxury I often had in my life, so I was especially thankful for these "retreats." 

I had been working on perfecting my dive for a week or two, trying hard to keep up with those who made it look so effortless. I was so proud of the progress I had been making.

Then a boy I had a mild crush on said to me "The reason you can't dive is because of your back fat," and he laughed.

I was crushed. I had never even realized I had back fat. But as I twisted around and examined my body in the mirror, I did have a slight roll on each side, below my bra line. 

I've had body image issues ever since, struggling with bouts of bulimia among other things.

To this day, when I look in the mirror as I dress, I am reminded of my imperfection, the cruel laughter at my expense.

I think of all the times over the past 15 years that I've silently agreed with him as I disapprovingly gazed at my flaws. And I'm kind of pissed about it, now as I end this story. How much of my self talk I've allowed to echo his voice since that day.

No more. 

Tits for Zits

I moved to Orange County in middle school and quickly learned how vapid and cruel wealthy, attractive teenagers can be.

I had never thought of myself as ugly until then.

On most days a group of boys would walk home behind me and shout hurtful things, my personal favorite being that I had traded tits for zits.

Fifteen years later, body dysmorphia accompanied by eating disorders, and countless hours staring at my face in the mirror wondering if I really am hideous, and their words still echo in my head.

"That's a perfectly acceptable thing for her to say"

My group of middle school girlfriends consisted of five of us total. The other four would often pair up against me in subtle but intentional ways, like ordering two Caesar salads at Cheesecake Factory for each pair to split while laughing at the fact that I was left out.

One day the five of us were hanging out with my longtime childhood friend who went to a different school, and we were all joking about how we wanted to violate all of the school rules on the last day of middle school, because there would be no consequences.

One of them joked that she'd wear a spaghetti strap tank top with her bra straps showing. Another said that she'd wear a miniskirt. I chimed in and said that I would wear like three hats.

There was an awkward silence and they all stared at me.

One of them said, "Ummm....ok..."

My childhood friend immediately reacted to this. "Whoa, why are you acting like that to her? Hats are also not allowed in school. That's a perfectly acceptable thing for her to say."

My friends didn't know how to react. They had never encountered someone standing up for me, since I had never done it myself.

It took this simple declaration from my old friend to really put into perspective how unfairly my middle school friends treated me for no reason.

Once we got to high school, we all parted ways.

"People are so mean to her, it's like not even funny"

One day in middle school, I was at my friend's house while she was chatting on AOL with this really popular girl. The popular girl asked what my friend was up to, and my friend said, jokingly, that she was hanging out with me, which is such a drag. 

The popular girl replied, "Lol, people are so mean to her, it's like not even funny."

There was an awkward silence between my friend and me, and we told the girl that my friend was joking, and that I was actually sitting right there. The popular girl scrambled for something to say to recover herself, but it was too late.

Her words had already stuck with me.

The thing is, I didn't know that everyone was mean to me. I knew I wasn't popular, but I thought I was sort of off the radar at best. The idea that "everyone" was mean to me behind my back, and that this was common knowledge, really hit me hard. 

It's been 15 years, and this memory is still as vivid as ever.

"I really thought you'd be better."

I had dreamed of being a musician from the first time my fingers touched the keys of a piano at age 3.

My father bought me the ugliest piano at auction for $10. It was the one I chose.

My parents paid for piano lessons when they could, but my love for music really took flight once I'd reached middle school and could sign up for band class. I chose the alto saxophone with the intention of moving on to the baritone sax as soon as I could. I lived, breathed and loved that sax, carting it to and from school with me on the bus every single day. Once I was old enough to drive, it was my passenger every where I went.

When I turned 16 I started working full time, trying to help the family make ends meet. Even though I worked until 1am, mine was the first car in the parking lot at school every morning, waiting at the door to be let into the band room so that I could practice before school started.

Music didn't come easily to me. I had to work hard at every song, every note. I had an ear for it, but my sight reading was my weakness. I knew even then I was never meant to be a solo player, I was meant to be with a band, whether concert or jazz, carrying it along. I worked my 40 hours and when I could, paid for private lessons with a college graduate whose choice instrument was the bari sax. I chose a music school, knowing I'd have to audition. My two best friends and I drove the 5 hours and I seemed to hold my breath the entire way. 

The morning of my audition, I was the first person in the building practicing my piece, Prelude by Bach, a beautiful Cello solo that had been transcribed for the baritone sax. I waited for my audition, half an hour past my appointed time. The head of the woodwind section of the school greeted me while still chewing. His excuse was, "I was eating lunch."

He continued to eat through my whole audition, never saying a word. When it was over he looked me up and down, took a bite of an apple and told me, "I really thought you'd be better. Are you sure you want a career in music? "
I thanked him graciously, returned home to keep working at my job, and I never played again.

Yet my fingers remember the feel of they keys beneath them, and my heart has not quite forgotten how to soar with a crescendo. I have not forgotten how to dream.

"What does this remind you of?"

When I was in middle school, a few girls who I had grown up with and used to be friends with started being mean to me.

One day around Christmas, we were on the bus on our way home from school. I had bushy and thick eyebrows at the time because of my heritage. One of the girls, who was wearing a fuzzy rimmed Santa hat, came up to me and stared at me for a second, and started pointing at my eyebrows. She then pointed to the rim of the hat and said, "What does this remind you of?"

She immediately started laughing with a few other girls as they exited the bus. 

I was embarrassed and ashamed. I asked my mom to take me to get my brows done. I was still unhappy with the results, and now, at 26 years old, I obsessively style my eyebrows myself.

I have gotten a lot of good compliments about them, but in the back of my mind, they have to be "perfect." 

"You could be a famous novelist."

When I was in middle school, we had to read 25 books and write reports on them in order to earn our spot on a class trip at the end of the school year.

I was writing my own book in my free time, and I was really into it. I asked my teacher if it would be okay for me to submit pages from my original book instead of book reports on other books.

Instead of shutting me down and acting like it was just a stupid little project, she encouraged my creativity and let me share the pages with her instead of doing the book reports. She would read them with complete sincerity and respect, and then provide me with thoughtful and constructive comments. 

One time she told me, "You could be a famous novelist."

It is because of her encouragement that I have always felt confident pursuing creative passions, even when they're against what everyone else is doing.

But I was an athlete...

In middle school I decided to turn my life around- I lost 25 pounds in 7 months by eating healthy and exercising. I joined cross county and swim team. I was finally confident in my strong, muscular, 125lbs body.

At the first school assembly freshman year, I was elected to give a short presentation on the sports offered by the school. As I stood up to speak in front of the school, one of the boys in my class said, "Fat ass" in a somewhat loud voice. The boys around him busted out laughing. I was so embarrassed that I could barely get through my presentation.

To this day, I still have a problem with my weight because of him. Six years later, I still hear his voice in my head when I look in the mirror.

"You're too miserable."

Said to me by my best middle school friend, who would often sit me down and confront me about all of the things that were wrong with me. 

Before I met her, I was a happy-go-lucky kid. If she perceived me as being miserable, it was only because her presence made me miserable. 

Of course, at the time, I couldn't recognize this, and I took her comment to heart, thinking that this was just another part of me that was inherently bad or inadequate.

"You are stuck up"

In the 7th grade, I befriended a girl who I became incredibly close with. But before we grew close, she told me that she thought I was really stuck up. I had never heard anyone describe me as "snobby" or "stuck up" before and it hurt my feelings very much because although I'm stubborn, I didn't think of myself in that light. It was a description that I associated with kids who had wealthy parents and spoke over their classmates with arrogance.

It was always in her character to be bluntly honest, so I put my trust in her because I thought she would always tell it to me straight. I started to think that other people may have the same impression of me but never told me.

In the end, we grew apart. I endured an emotionally-abusive friendship because I was a self conscious 13 year old and I wanted to be edgy and "fun." She took advantage of the fact that I was highly impressionable and I trusted her; she was clever, charming, and could argue her way out of any situation. I wanted so badly to be more like her and less of an uptight "snob." 

I don't think of myself as stuck up anymore. I am now 24 and much more confident than I used to be, but I haven't forgotten what she said.