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Who am I? This question is one that I've been asking myself lately. Am I the smart mouthed sarcastic girl who talks back to the teachers? Or am I the shy girl that kind of fades into the background? I have both traits, but I'm not quite sure which is more dominate. So the question remains: Who am I?
Lately I've been wearing a lot more black, and practically live in skinny jeans. I've been buying a few band shirts here and there, and the only pair of sneakers I own are Converse. I've also been listening to a lot more heavy rock/metal. My mom has NOT been happy with these changes. To her, I'm supposed to be a good little girl who follows the rules and doesn't look like "something that crawled out of a grave." I'm not supposed to be "goth" or "emo". Well guess what mom, I happen to like that look, and I'm not exactly the cheeriest person out there. Now I'm not saying I believe in stereotypes, quite the opposite actually, but that's what my mom believes. And it hurts.
One time when my mom and I were going to the store, I came downstairs in black skinnies and a black Three Days Grace shirt. My mom gave me the nastiest look possible and shouted, "I will not be seen in public with you looking like that! You go change right now young lady." That stabbed me deeper than anything ever could. To be rejected by my own mother. Of course I got mad at her, so I went back up stairs and changed into a black Breaking Benjamin shirt.
The other day I asked her if I could get Snakebites, and she flew off the handle. She started shouting at me, saying that's not who I was, and basically trying to tell me who I was supposed to be. After she was done, I slunk back upstairs, holding back tears. I headed back into my room and turned on Monster by Skillet, and again, my mother came in and yelled at me, trying to tell me which kind of music I should be listening to, and not, "this metal crap that rots peoples' brains." So I turned off Skillet and changed it to Framing Hanley, something a little softer. My mother just sighed, shook her head, and walked out. By then, my heart was shattered. My own mom rejecting the kind of person I was becoming.
As I struggled to fall asleep that night, I began really thinking about it. I then realized that this was who I am, and my mom is just going to have to deal with it. I'm proud of who I am, and I really don't care what anyone else thinks about it. Now that doesn't mean that it's easy to live with a mother that is always commenting about how you look, but I still like who I am, and quite frankly, that's all that matters.
Don't be afraid to dress how you want, be afraid to be yourself. It's who you are. Be proud.
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