I just noticed two tiny scratches on a ring that I gifted myself 2 months ago over the holidays. It’s definitely wear-and-tear from yours truly, not the company’s fault.
To quote “Oops I Did It Again”, that is just so typically me.
“Pulling a Brittany”
That Britney song could have been the soundtrack for much of my young adult life. Oops, I got another concussion on a youth group ski trip. Oops, I tripped walking up a curb. Oops, I knocked over a ficus tree prop during a high school theater performance and it landed on my friend’s dad in the front row (if you ever read this, Mr. Fahlsing, I’m still sorry).
I did this kind of stuff so much, my friends had a name for it. Anyone who did something random or embarrassing “pulled a Brittany.” They intended to be funny, but after a while, it became one reminder that I stuck out.
Sticking out
I stuck out for a lot of reasons growing up.
I had asthma and eczema pretty bad as a kid, and it seemed like someone was always making a point to loudly “just check” whether I needed my inhaler or asking what was wrong with my skin. I was among the taller kids back then, and once had a ballet teacher call me a linebacker in front of the whole class.
I wore big pink glasses with progressive lenses for years, and sported an epic gap between my two front teeth before getting braces in 6th grade. I also had a jaw expander cemented to my upper jaw that kept me from saying “s” sounds properly for a full year. All perfect for building self-esteem (not).
And on top of everything, ADHD always made me feel like a weirdo who couldn’t concentrate. Even my brain stuck out.
Being “that girl”
As a kid, I remember wanting to be “that girl.” I had no idea what that meant, except that it was about fitting in so people would leave me alone.
As I got older, being “that girl” meant someone taller and tanner who didn’t have frizzy hair or flush red like a tomato in the summer or blurt out random thoughts or constantly have bruises on her legs from running into things. Someone cool and calm who could wear white and not get anything on it. Someone who stood out, and didn’t stick out.
In many ways, I thought if I could just be the illusive “that girl”, life would be easier. Instead, it was so mentally exhausting trying to change or hide parts of myself that I turned to an eating disorder to help me manage the stress and punish myself for struggling.
It’s taken me a long time to realize that NO ONE is “that girl.”
Find freedom in being yourself
Social media reinforces society’s view that there are acceptable (and thus unacceptable) norms when it comes to how we’re supposed to look and live our lives. The definition of normal mentions conforming to standards; yet we know standards and norms shift all the time. So who gets to say what is normal and what isn’t?
There is no such thing as normal. There is no attainable benchmark. No set measure. No matter what society tells us, “that girl” doesn’t actually exist.
Freeing myself of “that girl” energy has not only given me my life back in many ways but has also allowed me to embrace being myself. I now see that I wouldn’t have many of the people I have in my life right now if I had somehow succeeded in being “that girl.” It’s been a process, but I’m reframing negative self-talk with the help of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, working through eating disorder recovery, and releasing the shame I’ve been handed over the years.
Now, I can look down at my scratched ring and shrug. This is who I am. I’ll always be a little harder things. I’ll occasionally bump into things when I’m not paying attention. My graying hair will always look a little “lived in.” I’ll always have to vigilant when wearing anything nice. I’ll still be impulsive with thoughts or say random things because my brain is 50 steps ahead in a conversation.
And all of that is just fine.
So in 2023, we have what I’ll call “pulling a Brittany 2.0” – where you finally own your journey of embracing who you are. At 39, it feels great to be here.
