For Him, It’s Okay

I’ve ranted before about how I hate that my family seems to view me more as a dress-up doll than a sentient person. I do like to dress up every so often, but my idea of dressing up is simply wearing a little more jewelry than usual or intentionally trying to look cute rather than merely be casual.

While I hate it for my family, I will sometimes do it for my friends. I think it’s because they are not obsessed with how I look. They care more about me showing up than looking like a doll. They might notice and mention it, but they won’t say I should wear a certain thing more often or question me on why I don’t dress that particular way all the time.

That’s the way I feel about Emmi (my name for him on this site; yes, I know it’s a female one). Maybe it’s too early to be assuming things since I’ve yet to meet him, but like my friends, he’s shown more respect than most of my family members ever have. He isn’t obsessed with my appearance. In fact, when I once offered to show him that I’d gotten my hair done, he didn’t really care to see it because he was having a bad day. Last night, we were talking and I sent him an image of me. He had one thing to say about it: Cute. That’s it. Nothing more, and I liked that.

I sincerely want to dress up to meet him. Not the whole nine yards as if I’m going on a date, but I want to dress in either flowers or glittery clothes, wear a lot of jewelry, have accessories in my hair, and even have my nails painted, sport some lip gloss, and wear a short pair of heels. He might care, or he may not, and if it’s the latter, that will really make me comfortable around him. Either reaction will please me if he remains un-obsessed and still respectful as he is.

Appearance Is Everything, Self-Worth Is Nothing

I’m going down south for the weekend. I’d rather not since I don’t really know anyone down there, but I don’t exactly have a choice. That alone is bad enough. What’s worse is I have to get my hair done.

Yes, I have to get my hair done for a ONE-day trip to see people I don’t even know.

My grandfather initially wanted me to get hair extensions done. Uh, no. Hair extensions take too much time and are a pain to take out. No way was I getting extensions in my hair for one weekend. Too much work and too much money. The compromise was I go to the salon to simply have my hair straightened. But what’s upset me is something my grandfather said today.

“You’ve got to start going [to the beauty parlor] again, so you may as well start now.”

No. No! NO!

This isn’t anything new. Almost my whole family has an obsession with appearance. Specifically, my appearance. The idea of a girl who actually likes how she looks and doesn’t feel the need to run to the salon every week is a foreign concept.

In other words, my self-esteem means nothing.

Forget the fact that I have low self-esteem to begin with. Apparently, being short-haired, wanting to stay that way and wanting to do your own hair is an issue. If this were a wedding (which I also hate), I could understand, but this is nothing but a trip. Nothing special at all. Just a trip. Even my uncle doesn’t want to go. But I’ve got to be dolled up, for some unfathomable reason (forget the fact that my nails are already done).

Like I said, this is nothing new. My own mother’s definition of pretty was having your hair done for $70. I was getting weave in my hair at the age of seven. Why does a seven-year-old need hair extensions?!?!? I hated it. Hated being in that chair, hated my aching head and I hated the notion that I wasn’t pretty without all this. I was bullied at school and being called ugly was the most common insult. It really doesn’t feel good to be told you’re ugly in school by your classmates, only to come home and basically hear the same from your own mother! This is the person who’s supposed to be helping me grow as a person, not make me feel small!

When I think about it, however, the real bully was my mother. Sure, my classmates (most of them, not all) picked on me, but never as much as she did. High school was when the school bullying began to stop, but my mother didn’t. I can recall her screaming at me (when I was 15), “People talking about you!” No, she was. Nobody was picking on me but her. And even if it were true, why did she care? When you have children, shouldn’t their opinion matter more than someone else’s? So what someone else thinks of me is more important to my mother than what I think of me?

I guess so.

Back to the original topic, this situation going on just makes me more anxious for the day I can finally move out and get the heck away from everyone. If I’m happy with myself (usually), why can’t everyone else be? I’ve got nothing against going to the beauty parlor. I just don’t want it. As long as I look neat (and I always do), there shouldn’t be an issue. Plus, if I’ve got to do anything, it’s learn to take care of myself and that does not mean running to the salon every month.

I’ve been considering estranging myself from my family when I’m finally able to be on my own. That’s a drastic step, but I can’t have my mind being broken all the time. I’ve got issues as it is and being around here is not helping. Maybe that’s why I usually feel more loved/liked by my friends and even my camp (yes, that counselor and I are back on good terms now). They see more to me than just my appearance. And that’s how I prefer to be seen.