When I was a young girl I used to thrive on spending time with my mom and her friends. I loved when they shared secrets or when they spoke of the world’s problems. They spoke from the heart. I loved hearing their private stories, it made me feel privileged to be in their company. I felt like it was education and I was thirsty for more. With my peers, I felt like I was on the inside looking out. I didn’t relate to them, so I felt isolated and alone. I was misunderstood and that feeling has lasted my entire life.
It was only when I was with my mom that I felt like the most important person in the world. Just the way she looked at me said it all. With her, I was not an outcast or a reject, but someone special. In her eyes, I was enough. She always told me I was perfect, yet she was hard on herself. She was always pulling herself apart.
My mother forever struggled with vanity. She was short, slightly chunky and had fine, straight brown hair. Though I’m far from being overweight, we had many similarities. Mostly, we shared the same frustration over our appearances.