Courtney and I were friends. Kind of. We had some classes together, we hung out sometimes outside of school, and we seemed to get along. We could have been closer friends, if I didn't secretly hate her. I couldn't help but be incredibly jealous of her. She had a perfect smile, while I wore blue retainers. She had perfect straight blonde hair, while I had frizzy wavy untamable black hair that would never be blonde. She had clear smooth skin, while I took life-threatening anti-acne medication for years. She was athletic and always looked fit, while I was terrible at almost every sport and struggled to find jeans that could contain my love-handles. She dated all the cute boys, while I wrote poems about them in my journal and hoped they knew my name. Essentially, she was everything I wasn't, and she had everything I wanted. I was constantly haunted by my own comparisons to her and the consequent feelings of unworthiness they planted. She had what it took to be loved and happy, and I didn't.
But beauty can be bought and confidence can be faked, one learns, and ugly ducklings can become swans, with enough money, products, and therapy.
At 16, someone fell in love with me. He was in college and he was crazy about me. Suddenly, I felt like the most beautiful woman in the world. And I was happy. Sort of. I didn't love him like he loved me, but I loved how he made me feel. Courtney stopped being such a threat to me. I realized that we could both be happy, and we could both be beautiful- she just had it easier, perhaps, but I could have it too. She could have every guy in school at her feet; I had my guy, and he had picked me.
And then it all went to shit.
One day, he was picking me up from school and we were in the parking lot waiting for my brother. For some reason, we started talking about sports and how I didn't like doing anything athletic at all. He was a basketball player and he loved sports. I said something like, "Why do I need to do sports? I don't like them," and he said, "Well that's fine. But look at that girl. You'll never have her legs." I turned around to look at who he was referencing. And there she was. Of course. Courtney, walking out of volleyball practice. The meanness of his comment would have been enough to destroy me. Coupling it with a comparison to Courtney was like being told, flat out, "Don't entertain illusions about yourself. You're not good enough. You're not her. You'll never be that beautiful, you'll never be that happy."
I broke up with him that day. He realized what he had done and apologized a thousand times. Sent presents. Wrote letters. Declared his undying love over and over again. But it was done. I was scarred.
In retrospect, what hurt the most was that I had really thought that to this one man, I was more beautiful than Courtney, and falling from the only pedestal I'd ever been on ended up hurting more than if I'd never been on one to begin with. I thought if I could be perfect, to just one person, then I could start to see myself as worthy of love and happiness. I didn't see then that he loved me even though I wasn't perfect, and I certainly didn't understand the value of that. I saw only the fact that he had seen in Courtney something that was lacking in me, and I had trusted him to be the one to tell me nothing was lacking in me. I needed him to tell me I was just as good as she was and that I was worthy of love, because I couldn't do that for myself. I had placed on him the responsibility of making me feel lovable and beautiful, not knowing that no one could mend my self-esteem and worthiness issues but me.
What I've learned is that it's really hard to take responsibility for our own sense of worth rather than placing it on another person. It's even harder to accept being loved for our flaws and imperfections, and to love another for their humanness as well. It's hardest, perhaps, to love ourselves for our flaws and imperfections; for our humanness.
It's a lesson I battle with daily. But now there are no Courtney's. Just my own ghosts.
My sense of self still gets challenged. But every time, I see I am able to hold on to how I see myself and who I am with more strength and love.
My flaws are mine, as are my virtues, and if I don't accept them, who will?
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