Stories I tell myself that aren’t true and yet completely colored my thoughts, behaviors, and emotions growing up.
On Creativity
Someone: “Wow you’re such a talented artist.”
Me: Thanks…
Me Internally: Maybe to you I am. But I know the truth. I’m a hack. I personally know artists 100x as good. Besides, what value does art have? Especially mine. It’s useless, can’t monetize it, so it’s useless (my dad’s voice). Also, only original highly polished work is worth anything. Never draw anything based on characters you love. Never show someone something if it isn’t perfect cause they’ll know how much of a fraud you are or make fun of you for it or dismiss it and that always hurts because it reinforces that your work is worthless. Lastly, only start something if you’re going to finish it and finish it well or don’t start at all.
As an aside, once when I was really young, I got some new art supplies for Christmas (thanks mom). I was so excited and I wanted to make my dad something. He was never home, he worked evenings and always got home at like 9pm or 10pm (would often go out drinking with buddies after work and then expected my mom to have dinner ready when he was home). So I didn’t see him much. I didn’t have much of a connection, didn’t know what he liked or didn’t like. So the only thing I could come up with to draw for him was a drawing that said “I love AAMCO” (that’s where he worked). When he was finally home on a day off, I showed him my drawing excitedly. He scoffed, furrowed his brow and said “What?! I don’t love AAMCO!” angrily. I was crushed, embarrassed, and I quickly put away my drawing. I felt sad… shame (as I’m newly learning to identify). I clearly didn’t understand him…and not a single remark on my abilities at all. I wanted him to be proud of me… to give me anything… at all…that resembled fatherly affection. To give me something to latch onto for me to think he cared if I even existed.
Disappointment is a bitter pill to swallow at such a young age.
This is probably why I still struggle with sharing certain pieces of art with people. As a teenager I made a pretty bleak painting once about self-harm. My mom was helping me put some things away in my room and found it, she was horrified, she said nothing and put it in my closet facing the wall lol and never spoke to me about it.
I grew up thinking making art, something so central to my identity (whatever that meant); was not welcome valued and certainly shouldn’t capture emotion. Only make nice and pretty things that make people smile.
***
But here I am, breaking all these rules little by little. Started this blog and post all sorts of art laden with emotion and in various mediums and levels of completeness regardless of outcomes and I recently started sharing on social media. I’ve heard from people who have told me they cried looking at my work… that is quite the compliment. : )
And that’s the truth I’d rather live. The story I’d rather tell is that you should be courageous and experiment with art, you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.
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On Body Image
I remember when I was a young girl maybe 10. I was at a sporting event w my mom and her friend. It was a high school sporting event and my mom’s friend was admiring the peppy and cute cheerleaders on the sideline, she asked me if I wanted to be a cheerleader when I got older?
I thought only a moment and quickly said to her, “No, I’m not pretty enough anyway.” It wasn’t even a question to me. They both scowled and refuted my response to which I felt like I’d said or done something wrong and just let it go.
The story I told myself was based on who I went to school with (mostly white kids), the neighborhood I lived in mirrored that, but also society and media (no surprise there). I am not blonde, white, blue-eyed, tall, thin, or have a perfect button nose. I smile too much with my teeth; which are huge (literally too big for my mouth – I had to have some molars grinded down haha and had painful braces as a kid). My eyes are so dark they don’t even have a color. And my legs are not long and sexy; they’re super short (probably owing to being born club-footed as a kid – I swear I would have gotten a few extra inches if not for that lol). Not to mention competing w the genetic gift of an abundance of hair. The head hair is fantastic, the body/face hair not so much. lol So, I fit none of the checkboxes for what I thought the world perceived as beauty. Some of these are unchangeable traits.
So even before I was a teenager I resigned myself to never being beautiful. It was just a fact. It hurt to accept it as a young girl. And I still hold that story as a core belief. And this was before I had any weight issues (hormones are great!). As complex as my issues with sex are, this deep rooted story is a piece of the that puzzle. Some part of me thought that it I slept with enough super attractive people it would mean I wasn’t completely ugly – completely worthless.
This is a narrative I don’t know how to re-write just yet. It’s one I still struggle to re-educate myself on. But at least in identifying it…maybe I can mediate on it and talk to my young self. But what would I tell her?
***
I would show her some selfies I’ve taken lately. Look at this adult woman, she doesn’t look like everyone else. Look at her beautiful smile. She takes care of her appearance and strives to stand out instead of match everyone else. Not because she couldn’t match Hollywood’s interpretation of beauty, but because it’s better this way. Why do you want to be like everyone else? It’s cheesy but, seriously, dare to be different. You have so much power and will be so talented when you grow up. You’re talented and strong now, you just don’t know it yet. Maybe cheerleading just isn’t for you. It doesn’t appeal because it feels empty and you love to be in spaces that have meaning; that explore pain and emotion because you struggle with that. You haven’t learned to cope with that in other ways just yet. In fact, exercise becomes a grounding experience for you at some point. Lean into that.
And I know it’s tough feeling awkward around people, we still struggle with that. It’s not because we don’t like them…even if one part of us tries to convince us otherwise. It’s because they don’t understand us. That’s okay. We are working on understanding ourselves too. Just know that you are beautiful not just because of the spark inside you; but also because you actually are pretty Jess. In your own uniquely human way. No you don’t match societies view; but don’t let that be your goal. It shouldn’t be. The most beautiful people are the ones who are authentic and unabashedly unafraid of being themselves, through and through.
***
I read this out to myself twice. I started crying unexpectedly. Both because I’d hit home so hard – and because it’s so bizarre to feel the two sides of me in the same room – the one who can write and share wisdom and the version of myself that is young and impressionable and insecure. It is scary to feel them both there and to experience both pride for being the strong voice and gratitude for being the one receiving such gentle tender care (and a third view that is just in awe of everything). It’s bizarre. I’m saddened that I’m like this, but I’m happy for internal young Jess. I hope she realizes I mean it. I love her…
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On Self-Worth and Using My Voice
“You’re annoying. There’s no reason for you to exist. You were an afterthought at best, at worst you take up space for no reason. You provide no meaningful value to anyone.”
Don’t interrupt your parents. Stay quiet. Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about (classic).
I got upset once when I was about 8, it was irrational, but I went to my room and was crying loudly for my mom. She was on the phone and got annoyed at my crying and came upstairs. I heard her coming upstairs and was happy she finally came to console me. My face quickly changed to fear as I could see she was pissed that I interrupted her phone call and wouldn’t shut up over something dumb. She came at me with the classic sandal (very mexican lol) and started smacking me with it and told me to stop crying which made me cry harder. Before I got another swat I ran out of my room in a panic. I didn’t know where I was going but I knew my dad was in the next room casually watching TV. I jumped in his lap and he was shocked and annoyed (what the hell). At this point I wasn’t sure I was even safe, maybe my dad would get angry too. But I took a risk, I hoped that his desire to get back to watching TV would over ride my mom’s desire to keep spanking me. And in this one instance, as my mom explained how I was and crying over nothing, he protected me (whether he realized it or not). He said leave it alone and I went back to my room.
I never felt so much like garbage in my life. I was so shocked I got that treatment from my mom. Part of me started to write the story that I shouldn’t expect her to love and protect me either. And especially if she was on the phone, she was too busy for me.
Years later, I came home after falling off my bike; my elbow was pretty bloody. Sure enough, my mom was on the phone as I walked through the door after school. I was holding my elbow because it was literally dripping blood. She looked at me, kinda gasped, but then continued her conversation… (I’m actually not sure she gasped about me or something on the phone). I thought she might stop and help but, she kinda just shrugged her shoulders and carried on – sort of like saying what do you want me to do about it? I got the message, so I cleaned myself up but was hurt she wouldn’t even try to help. I still have a scar on my elbow from that fall – a stiff reminder of the whole incident. (As an aside, that’s a weird story as I had dreams about falling off my bike in the same place that I did for weeks before it happened).
And lastly, my brothers would tell me or show me that I was annoying all the time. I just wanted to play with them; to enjoy the relationship they had with each other. I always felt so alone. My eldest brother got older and spent less time at home. So I thought maybe my other brother J would want to spend more time with me. One day I saw J playing a video game by himself and I came in and asked if I could join him. Looking annoyed he said, “here” handed me the controller and walked out of the room. I actually just wanted to spend time with him. I often felt rejected by my family even though it wasn’t always like that. But that’s why I fell silent.
This is why I rarely talked as a kid. I didn’t want to bother people and thought I would be rejected anyway – too annoying. The story I told myself was that I was annoying and not deserving of care or attention.
***
But you are Jess. You are allowed to ask for what you need directly and you shouldn’t feel bad about it. Also, if someone isn’t able to reciprocate at the moment, it doesn’t automatically mean they don’t care about you. But everyone needs to take care of their own needs first (including yourself) and your good friends will always be there for you in the dark times if you need them. You just need to trust them – trust that they do care for you. And know that you are worthy of that care. Period.
I’d like to add more to this – I don’t quite feel it yet. I still feel like crap.. but I’m working on it….
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On Safety
“I am not safe. No one will protect me. Your’e not worthy of protection.”
That’s it, that’s the end of that story. But it is a core belief. What fuels it? Every time someone I trusted violated that trust in the most brutal of ways… The people who were supposed to love and protect me either actively hurting me or watching without intervening. I’m having trouble writing this one down and exploring it. Maybe I’ll try again later…