Dear Society, Family, and Myself,

The weight you’ve placed upon me has always pushed my shoulders down, contorting my back. It felt as heavy as bricks, though it was invisible as air. With stooped shoulders, never did I meet another’s eyes; all I ever had to stare at was a shabby-looking pair of Converse, the once-onyx fabric now faded, the white rubber now the color of old milk. Long, dark hair hooded my face, shrouding my dejection. Though I never intentionally met another’s eyes, I knew what I would see there, had I looked. Confusion, disappointment, and vague disapproval of how I kept myself. I wasn’t what they wanted to see. No make-up, discolored torn blue jeans, and a bled purple sweatshirt. I fixed that; I tried to live up to their standards. I paint my face every morning, in the hopes that it will be good enough. I attempt to wear nice clothes and make myself presentable, waiting for this weight, this burden, to lift. But it doesn’t, and it never will.

But it becomes easier to carry, because, with every day that I hold myself to this belief that I need to be better, I become stronger. Walking down these crowded hallways, I no longer keep my gaze on the dingy floor. I no longer plod with heavy steps. Rather, now, I walk steadily, with self-assurance, my strides overcoming anything in my way. I hold my chin high, I feel a bit taller and a little more capable. These expectations thrust upon me to improve my intelligence, sketches, and over-all looks make me want to fall to my knees. But this silent voice inside my soul roars at my brain, demanding that I never give in, that I must refuse to show weakness. My Mamaw calls it stubbornness. My pastor calls it persistance egged on by pride. I call it determination, my own unshakable decision to prove wrong all who thought lowly of me.

There was a time when I told myself that I didn’t care, that I would be content with doing anything. I’m sorry, Abbi, what were you lying? I knew, as others knew, I could do more, I could be more. But it was the raw potential, not the disapproval, that brought on the real weight. The knowledge that I wasn’t living up to what I could be, what I was expected to be. It bowed my shoulders forward, but I just rolled them back. It willed my head down, but I compelled myself to keep it up, using as much force as I needed. Expectations were a weakness of mine, but they were one that made, and still makes, me stronger. More courageous to take charge and be dedicated to improving my own life. My idol since age twelve, Tom Hiddleston, said in a recent interview: “We all have two lives; the second one begins when you realize you only have one.” (Tom Hiddleston, Nerd HQ)

I guess that, the way I see it, my second life has begun. So, thank you for giving it a kick-start.