Of course, I was a CHILD, a still developing being without the keen insight and laser sharp wit that I possess today so before anyone thinks, “Gawd, get over yourself, they were just trying to help,” stop to consider how you processed things like this at 10 or 12. Did you totally get adult context? Were you clued into things like hidden meaning and passive-aggressive intent? No? Then sit back down, I’m not done telling my story!
So, here I am, a young child listening to verbal mortar shell explosions going off all around me. It was a veritable war of dysfunction. “Why are you so stupid?” “If you weren’t so lazy you’d have this done by now.” “You’ll never amount to much so there is no sense in wishing for anything better.” Oh, there are many more examples of like kind but I will refrain because, you know, I’m done with that detailed shit but you still get the gist of this right? If not, better check your heart to see if it’s still warm.
The Long Shadow: Adult Survivors of Child Abuse
Day in, day out, year after year…why are you so this, that, this again and multiple variations of this, that and the other all combined. It messes with a young mind that only wants to hear the pleasant things, the things they heard in story books read at bedtime. Why can’t I be the girl in that book, TV show or movie? That was my kneeling prayer every night. Stop being such a dreamer! I couldn’t afford to believe in dreams, I was told, so I crammed them back into the recesses of my brain and continued hanging on the best I could.
Now, ask yourself this, after hearing just that little vignette about a little girl who was told that all would be better if she just smiled….would you feel like smiling? The best I could muster was a slight smirk. This eventually labeled me a sarcastic smart-ass but it was better than a nothing, a sad blob doomed to slug through life dragging her sorrows behind her.
Stop Telling Women to Smile!
Why so sad Sally? “First off, my name ain’t Sally and I ain’t sad, I’m pissed!” That became my response and it was the truth. Smile little girl. Oh, you don't like how I look old man? Then don't look at me! Little girls should be happy and giggly and sunshiny all the time? Be happy because the nice man said so? In my world I hated people telling me I needed to change for them but even with all of that negative adult noise going on in my head I still had a handle on the truth. Life wasn’t always fair, people can be the worst and those who seek to tear others down usually stay in their own well of shit until the day they die. No one was going to drag me down with them.
Here’s a funny thing about growing up in a ringside seat at catastrophe’s circus…you really do learn a lot. You learn to read people like a book, you learn to stand back and question everything you hear and everything you see. To all the people that told me to smile because it would make me look prettier; was that for my benefit or your own perverted pleasure? When I did smile in response I didn’t get a, “see now, that’s much better,” or any other reward for doing what you wanted. All I got was the sense that people can’t handle the pain of others so they make shit up in order to stay as uninvolved as possible. Can’t be party to this train wreck! No sir! Look pretty for me instead.
Everybody hurts….yes, the REM song was correct about this but, everyone also has the power to rise above the pain to show those sanctimonious assholes who the pretty girl really is. I can say, with great certainty and confidence that the pretty girl isn’t the one who smiles on demand like a trained monkey, she’s the one that tells you to go fuck yourself because she’ll damn well do it if and when she so desires! Power is pretty and beauty rises up from within a soul that contains the strength to throw off the shackles of propriety, expectation and demand. No one can demand I do anything these days and if I’m labeled a grouchy old bitch then the onus of that decision is on the labeler not me. I am who I am and I smile not for you but for me! Got that?
Signing out,
Pretty Reverie
