From a girl to a woman

Written: August 27, 2015

From a girl to a woman

By: Megan Grace

“An inch mommy, LOOK! I grew another inch!” The immeasurable amount of joy that extra inch conveyed on my heart as a little girl! I was one inch closer to becoming a grown woman! I can’t recall going through the “ I am a little princess “ stage. I felt as though I was meant to be big. I was meant to be an adult! It has been said, “ Do not rush your childhood. Better enjoy it while you can.” For me I wasn’t missing anything as I stayed aloof over half the time day dreaming what growing up would be like. The most famous questioned asked to a child, that allowed the imagination run wild like a herd of horses through an open field. “ What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Boy, did I love this question. The endless amount of possibilities. Remember as a child the overwhelming excitement that rushed through you as you finished completing that awesome cardboard box space ship and began your adventure to the moon and stars. How about after a terrifying thunderstorm, you walk outside and become the neighborhood’s best mud pie maker. Perhaps you were a naturist who spent most of your days swiftly inspecting how flowers grew or why grasshoppers jumped when you walked near them? Modeling, that was my dream! The more years that past the inches doubled, sometimes tripled with my height at once! I was destined for modeling. At least that is what I thought! I idealized Tyra Banks! When I grew up I wanted to be just like her!

Americas Next Top Model began airing on the television, as the years went on not one episode did I miss. I studied and analyzed up and down the program so I could try and teach myself how to walk down a cat-walk. I took the judges constructive criticism as if I was a contestant on the way to becoming Americas Next Top Model. There was a burning passion building substantially from within myself, regardless of my age I was determined to get on that show. The more obsessed this fantasy dream became another passion aroused from the midst. I discovered after the countless hours I spent in the bathroom playing with makeup and doing crazy different styles with my hair that the desire to become a cosmetologist was equivalent to becoming a model.

Will my head stay up in the clouds forever? Will I always be stuck in this fantasyland I created? Will the fear of failing hold me back? All pride aside, fear has played a big role in why my dreams stayed dreams. I am no longer a child. I am a mother. The longest time I could not adapt to the changes that occurred to my body while being pregnant and after the pregnancy. The only way I could like myself was to crack jokes about my stretch marks. That way all the jokes would be said before anyone else could tease me. Notice earlier I stated, “ I am no longer a child, I am a mother.’ I didn’t refer to myself as a woman because I still had a girl frame of mind. I hid behind the fear that I created wondering what people thought of me. I let complete strangers render my thoughts on how I viewed myself as a woman.

I can’t! Is sadily what I eventually let define my attitude towards wanting to reach that dream of modeling. I can’t model because I am covered in stretch marks. No one wants to see that nor would they find that attractive. My wants as a child to grow up and be like Tyra Banks were slowly dissolving into little grains of salt that blew away with the wind carrying my confidence and the way I use to perceive myself with it. Growing up all the models I saw were nothing less of complete perfection. There was no chance I could compete with them or even compare to them anymore. So I gradually pushed my focus on the only other dream I had in which that is to make others feel beautiful. Although my self image was completely crushed it gave me more strive to keep practicing hair styles and different make up looks.

One day it hit me. Once Hollywood had been exposed and their dirty secrets were released to press I couldn’t help but then wonder,” Why can’t I model?” I took ownership over my stretch marks after digging deep within my thoughts. Stretch marks should not be looked at as a disgrace or disgusting. Each mark has its own story of the very movement I was able to place my hand on my stomach for the first time to feel my children move. Each mark is a mark showing the first kick, the little foot I witnessed from my stomach. Each mark is an extraordinary realization that I was blessed to create and carry another human being’s life inside of me! There was nothing shameful nor unpleasant in regards to my stretch marks. When realizing my whole life I had been comparing myself to what I thought perfection was, I became more disgraced at the idea of becoming perfect when I was just fine being perfectly imperfect.

Like a worm in a cocoon who creates a beautiful butterfly. I manifested into a woman when I no longer let fear control my thoughts, my actions, pretty much my life. Along with getting rid of the fear. I learn to take life from different angles instead of being naïve and controlled by others opinions. I can sincerely say I believe that is when I became a woman. I may have let one dream slip away but by the grace of God and his timing, I chased the passion long enough to be able to say I am persuing my dream of making others feel beautiful in the cosmetology field!!!! It is an uncontrollable tidal wave of emotions that has taken hold as I am grasping the thought that it was no longer just a dream. It was reality. This was it, I’m doing this for real. I went from a little girl dreaming to a woman succeeding!

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