Wednesday, June 16, 2010

The apple of my eye

Now these are a little blurry (having been scanned) but when i look at my daughter I see myself... i see who i was and i see who she could be....

Those are my wide eyes below and my brother taking care of me...
That is me laughing...
That is me playing...

It's so amazing to look at the little person that i was apart of creating and see myself in her eyes. It's amazing and yet scares me at the same time, because, well, I want better for her.

I had an amazing childhood, i had amazing parents that loved me and gave me everything they could, which was always more then i needed. They taught me about God and goodness and kindness. They put me in gymnastics, dance, theater, etc.

What i want for Kinsley are not better parents, i hope i can only be half the parent mine were. I hope for her better friends and more happiness in school. From the time i was in at least 5th grade I can remember becoming one of the children that other children picked on. I was teased, picked on, called names, and taunted. It got worse as i went into middle school.

I remember crying to my Mom and her trying to find a way to make it better, but there simply wasn't a way. I later learned in high school from a boy that the reason they were all so mean to me in middle school was because i was "just that person everyone picked on". It's true i let them get to me, which kids only feed on. It didn't help that my Dad would volunteer at the school DAILY and roam the halls looking for kids to turn into the principal for breaking the rules.

It didn't get better when i got into high school either. For all of a month or two maybe it did but then the "cool" girls decided i would be their new source of entertainment to taunt. By the time my junior year rolled around i knew who to avoid and where not to stand, etc. I eventually thought my luck had changed when i met a cute "cool" boy who wanted to be my boyfriend. But my self esteem was so low that I never saw how i was letting myself down by staying with a person who would stay friends with people who would spread rumors and vandilize his girlfriends house. My self esteem was low enough that i stayed (or kept going back to) with him for 4 years of my life.

It wasn't until i reached my junior year in college that i "grew a pair". I had my established group of GOOD friends. Real friends that would tell you the truth and tear apart anyone who tried to hurt you. I became independent, moving into my first apartment with these girls. I met my Northern Cowboy, who showed me what a man is supposed to be like. I met my best friend Christina who through the years i've grown such a bond with that i can't remember when we weren't close.

It took a long time, but i'm happy and confidante now. I can stand up for myself and be happy doing what i want to do, not what i think others want me to do. I don't want my daughter, who looks SO much like me to have to take 10 or more years to get to that point. I want her to be okay with being the good girl and i don't want her to be picked on for having parents that care so deeply. I want her to know how to shrug off the hurtful comments because she already knows how amazing she is and that those people are just trying to make themselves feel less insecure. I want her to follow God like it's a privilege and like it's exciting, not like she feels like she should because I told her to... I want her to have a happiness that i only had growing up when i was safe at home in my parents arms. I want her to feel my arms around her every step of her day.

It scares me to look in her eyes and see myself, because i just want better for her...

1 comment:

  1. Hark, is that the herald angel I hear?
    Just found your blog and enjoyed what I had time to read...loved seeing the pictures of you and Seph...good times...and I love that you want Kinsley to know the One who has such amazing, wonderful, exciting, even better than we can dream, plans for her life...I love your sharing where God is taking you, Erin...I'm proud of you and I love you very much.
    Mrs. Vee