My 12yo daughter will smile and say, “We’re weird, Mom, and that’s okay.”
Wow. Such wisdom. If only I had known.
When I was 12, or even 13, 14, 15, 16… 21, 22… yeah, you get the picture, if I would have been able to say that I liked me, that being me made me happy, that being different was my choice, life would have been… better? different? happier? Maybe. Not being like everyone else had been my choice, but I didn’t see it that way. I thought something was wrong with me. I was weird. I was quiet, a goodie-two-shoes (still am *puffs chest out*), got good grades, read books, drew strange pictures of evil-looking creatures (it freaked my mom out), didn’t wear all the latest trends, and liked being home with my mom and dad.
And I was happy that way, but couldn’t see it!
Kids made fun of me. I didn’t get to go to all the parties. Boys did not ask me to dance. Something must have been wrong with me. That terrible inner voice screamed that no one liked me. I desperately wanted someone to like me, which would be difficult considering I didn’t really like myself. In the midst of our strange teen years, does anyone really like themselves?
So now, as an *cough*adult*cough* I embraced the weird, the different. I like to be me. Not everyone gets to see that brilliance shine, because not everyone will completely appreciate it. I’m okay with that. I don’t need everyone to like me.
I still don’t go with the flow. A group of friends isn’t calling me to go out. I take myself to the movies. I’d rather be home with my cats, computer, and chocolate. My greatest wish is to have time to myself every night.
I hope I am teaching my kids to be happy, to understand that not being like everyone else is a choice, one you should celebrate. Other people’s lives are not molds to fit ours into. Be happy with what you choose and who you choose to be.
Embrace it. And never look back.