(I started this a couple days ago, so the timing is off, but all still as true as when it was actually happening in situ.)
I’d mentioned that my absence recently was due to the wedding (my brother!) but I haven’t really gotten a chance to develop all the things which occurred from then til now, so I think today is an excellent day to do so. Plus, I’m trying positive thinking instead of letting myself get bounced around by “crap”.
The mother of the bride is has the same name as I do, and because I was officiating/helping and she was organizing/planning, Michele/Michelle was on everyone’s lips. Within a day, I was quite sure I’d get whiplash from turning my head to look at someone who wanted “the other one” instead of me-so I told everyone to call me, Misha and let her take our name. And they did. I mean, it was all part of my grand scheme to take over the world. I’m kidding. My neck just couldn’t take the constant movement and I wasn’t sure I wanted that much demand on me anyway. I picked Misha because it’s just the first half of my first name. It’s simple, I’d respond to it, and I really thought it would help. Turns out, it absolutely did.
Misha Collins’ real name is Dmitri. His mother thought Misha was a nickname for it and called him that. The name stuck. Without going on a complete rant about how fantastic he is, I just thought I’d talk about the pertinent bits. Misha is quoted as saying:
Anyway, the point is, the man exudes confidence. And in a time when my whole life feels like quick sand, I need that.
The first time I felt confident in myself was as a freshman in high school. I was in a play called Wagon Wheels A’Rollin and I played Clementine-fiery law enforcer. I dyed my hair copper, brought my own spin to her and I felt proud of my work. Then I acted in Little Women, as the nurse maid. I did my best Irish accent and afterwards, someone came up to me and asked me where I was from, and if I could “say something”. I asked (in my normal voice) what they wanted me to say and it was then that they asked if I was an exchange student and then complimented me on my abilities. Despite my frustrating shyness, acting is a blast for me. I love the adrenaline of it all.
But anyway, back to the story.
So I spent all weekend at my parent’s house, being myself (which I’d missed) and being called Misha. (My parents just went along with it-I’m a grown ass woman, but they know I’m just being me the only way I know how). And when I came home after it, I tried to get back in the swing of things, and on Friday I got word that I wasn’t selected to finish my IMADTTO project. All day Saturday, I waited for an email I knew wasn’t coming. The one that said “We made a mistake and want you to present your project!” And on Sunday, when I could face it no longer, I needed a change. I needed to take charge of my life and be in control of something.
I picked gender norms. Of course I picked gender norms.
So I got a foot of my hair taken off. I wore my makeup too dark and felt that for the first time, I didn’t have to care what other people thought-because I’d already “stuck it to them”. I’ve always heard that it’s womanly and feminine to have long hair on your head, shaved legs and underarms, waxed eyebrows. Those are the norms prescribed to a “western woman”. On top of that, a woman should be thin, tan and have perfect makeup-the kind that says “I woke up like this” and wear heels and skirts and hose.
That isn’t who I am.
I’d been so worried about getting a pixie cut because it would make “my face look fatter”. I spend so much time covering up parts of me I don’t like-my face, my flab, my stomach, my everything. And that is complete and irrevocable bullshit. Why should I apologize for being who I am? I am the one who grew this body (with a 9 month boost from my mom) and I’m the one who knows it best. I don’t have to look like a tent just because I don’t want people to notice my rolls.
So that’s why I’m doing some positive thinking. Because I have two options ahead of me: lose weight or love myself. And as my sweatshirt reminds me Love Yourself First. I think that’s great-because weight loss in and of itself isn’t going to make me happier. I’m still going to be the same person, I just won’t be as held down by gravity. So I got that pixie cut.
And the moment the hair stylist looked at the Pinterest picture I feebly held up, she didn’t agree. “Oh sweetie, that’s so much hair! Are you sure?” And I looked her reflection dead in the eyes and said “Yep. Cut it off.” She made the comment several more times and some of the other patrons chimed in before she was done. But I knew that my haircut was symbolic. I needed to cut ties with the things that held me back.
Now I’m not saying there will never be a relapse into the self-conscious dregs of my personality. Becuase even this morning on the bus, I found myself growing mopey and self-conscious about how much space my sweatshirt was taking up. And so I began the mantra: I am fierce. I am brilliant. I am more than my failures. I am more than numbers. I am more than grades and tests and school. I am more than my biggest hopes and goals. And soon enough, I began to smile. I caught the gaze of a girl with lilac colored lipstick and we shared a mutual smile. I even found out where she got the color (Ulta). Maybe I’ll go grab an ice blue. Who knows.
But what I do know is that by taking charge of the small details in my life, I regained something that I seem to always misplace: confidence. I don’t know if it’s because I mimicked a much beloved inspiration or if it’s because I decided that society wasn’t going to dictate my actions and behaviors and looks to me anymore. All I know is that I looked for a chance to believe in myself and now I’m taking it.
So I think I started this on Wednesday. I’m fairly pleased with how well it’s going. I wore a lovely cowl neck dress shirt yesterday to go to the law fair at my school and introduce myself to several admissions people. I even put aside my concerns about large groups of people and let myself feel at home-because these people are the key to the rest of my future. I got questions answered and I felt the residual feeling of progress once more. I love it!
Today, I’m in a hoodie once more. Not because I’m ashamed-but because it’s so cold and rainy out. But I look super cute and I know that I’m still awesome. I got epic news yesterday, I’m mid-way to figuring out my entire life and I feel like things are starting to look up.
Sometimes the symbolic things are the ones that make the difference. Taking on another person’s best qualities for a time can lead them to become your own. Admitting that you’re in need of a change and then making it happen can lead to great things. I miss having long hair (sort of) but each day I wake up to curly, bed head sticking up everywhere just reminds me that I’m the one making things happen. And I know that I can do this.
I’ve got my magick back. And to quote a very excellent piece of philosophy:
Nobody, in all of Oz-no wizard that there is or was-is ever going to bring me down!