I'm of course talking about my true voice. The one that is left when all pretense and past hurts is stripped away. The one I tucked away for safe keeping when I grew up in a house that was not safe. Where I learned that your true self is best kept from everyone, including yourself. Because it's ugly. Just like you.
Shhhh, don't tell
That no one would believe that a girl who grew up to model would ever believe she was ugly is just as astonishing to me as to others. But hey, if they're willing to pay me I'll play along.
Maybe someone will love me then?
The girl in the Lands' End catalog, Claire's Jewelry Boutique and issue of Woman's Day magazine wasn't me. Not really. It was the pretend me. The girl I longed to be in my head but knew I wasn't in my heart. The girl who could only emerge after an hour and a half of hair and make-up.
Then she was pretty.
Then she was valued.
At least for the moment.
Shhhh, don't tell.
Afterwards it seemed she could forget or at least pretend it didn't matter that she was really none of things people thought.
Maybe someone will love me then?
The girl in the Lands' End catalog, Claire's Jewelry Boutique and issue of Woman's Day magazine wasn't me. Not really. It was the pretend me. The girl I longed to be in my head but knew I wasn't in my heart. The girl who could only emerge after an hour and a half of hair and make-up.
Then she was pretty.
Then she was valued.
At least for the moment.
Modeling was the best way to pretend to be someone else. Dressed by a wardrobe stylist. Perfect lighting. Excellent photography. Flawless hair and make-up.
It takes a lot to hide who you really are. A costume put on to be someone else. This girl was masterful at learning to be what others wanted her to be. It is the only way to survive.
It takes a lot to hide who you really are. A costume put on to be someone else. This girl was masterful at learning to be what others wanted her to be. It is the only way to survive.
Shhhh, don't tell.
Afterwards it seemed she could forget or at least pretend it didn't matter that she was really none of things people thought.
She wasn't confident or beautiful.
Her life wasn't perfect.
She wasn't Daddy's little girl or her Mother's pride and joy.
She was broken.
She was damaged goods.
Shhhh, don't tell
But what if finding my voice means finding the courage to tell? What will my voice sound like then?
1 comments:
Wow, what a deep post. I could really feel what you were trying to convey. I never would have guessed that something like this was going through your mind. But, that goes to show you that we really never know what someone is going through personally. Thanks for sharing.
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