I used to care a lot about what others think of me. I used to cut my bangs because people said my forehead was too big.
I used to stuff my face with food because people said I was too skinny.
I used to wear clothing I really didn’t like just so those around me would think I am normal.
I am normal.
Anyways, what is normal?
No one really is normal. We are all as different as my nail color every week.
But at that time I didn’t understand that who I am is enough.
For the longest, I thought I was ugly.
Hey, I may be ugly to some, or the most beautiful woman to cross their path.
But I don’t care, as long as I love these curves I developed after high school, my curly hair and my eyes that’s all that matters.
What I see in the mirror is all that matters.
What I feel when I post my writing is all that matters.
What I feel about my own self is all that matters.
People are mean because they want something you have.
People are mean because they feel satisfaction in hurting others for deeper internalized reasons we may never know.
I still care honestly about certain things. Mostly rejection for certain aspects of me I can’t control.
Or rejection from a world where my dreams take place in.
But life is a process. The ability to not care has levels.
I stopped caring about what others think about my looks.
Or about my weight.
Or as these little girls used to say my big forehead.
I have a long way to go on letting go of caring too much about other aspects of my life.
But hey let me just say. Care, but just be like someone I know. She cares about what’s important, only on what she can see.
As my mom would say, ”Viva la vida de los sinberguenzaés.”