I realize I’ve looked at myself a million times and never truly seen myself. I’ve only really looked into my own eyes to tell myself worthless thoughts barely worth a sixpence. I always avoided mirrors and when I did venture a peek, I searched desperately for any sign of imperfection and reason to hate the person staring back from the glass. I sought out imperfections like a police dog looks for drugs. I assaulted myself to find the truth that lay in the bulge of my cheeks, tucked behind my ears, hidden beneath my chin–self inflicting scars I adored. I obsessively looked for the same evidence (flaws) over and over again and when I found them, felt relief at the thought that at least it was I who caught them. I acted out of defiant defence. I thought that if I could find all the flaws, if I could hate myself first and hardest, it wouldn’t hurt when others cracked the walls of my sunlit reality, poking their serpent tongues through the walls of my cocoon.

 

These were the lessons I learned in elementary school. 

 

Lesson Number One: people will find every reason not to play with you. I didn’t have the self worth to argue. And what do adults really know about playground politics? Especially in the war zone of sensitive children. How do you protect yourself from the insults hurtling like pieces of glass that come in the form of blackmail, lies, whispered gossip, first turns, class favourites, buddies, groups and birthday party invitations? Constantly having to choose favourites… and reinforcement you’re no one special. Punches hurtled at me in conversational tones across bookbags afterschool, before school; these wounds shielded as “truths” meant as explanations for the rejection that acted as a daily assault to my confidence and childish innocence. I thought I deserved unconditional love from the world- the kind of love I was taught to expect from my home. From the ones I was forced to interact with everyday, I expected more than casual indifference sent my way if I was to feel welcome and safe to play on the playground. I wanted the love that I showed returned. That’s a lot to expect from those who are just five… 

 

When do we unlearn love? 

 

From the moment our hearts form as foetuses? 

 

Or during the trauma of being born? 

 

Why do we come to expect less from our children if we are born out of love? They say we are beings of love… yet I think we are more like castaways, born out of the love game of oxytocin and adrenaline. 

 

I became resound in my goal: find what could be used as ammunition first and you swallow it whole. Then you will be shielded from hurt. Only that didn’t work. 

 

Seeing myself was always framed in the challenge to find the ever lingering glimmer of self love and praise and squash it down. “It’s your fault you’re not the one they want.” I tell myself. Act like the police dogs and hunt until you find the stash. Then tear it apart so it’s unusable trash. If I could present total humility, bow down like a dog to his master, 

 

agree, 

 

agree, 

 

agree, 

 

then run away and hide, perhaps there would be nothing left to criticize. Or that’s the wish I poured into the wishing well. And dear childhood peers, I’m sure you were battling the same fears. Locked behind closed doors we were probably shedding the same tears. 

 

It didn’t occur to me that I could choose not to listen to the critics and instead I could build myself up when I looked in the mirror. But to be honest the thought disgusted me. I knew this type of criticism masked as helpful honesty would come daily and wanted to build up my armour because I was a warrior. My extreme humility took the form of self deprivation. I thought this was my protection. I was ashamed that I wanted to be special. 

 

Lesson Number 2: Sift through the praise. Let it roll away. But cling to exclusion because these experiences tell me more than any one admiration. We can say whatever we want but at the end of the day, if I’m not shown deep care, then I see where I’m welcome. I don’t want your surface level offerings. 

 

I would often go to the top of the hill to pray. I would whisper,

 

“why god, why? take it away.” 

 

6 year old me, shins covered in mud and bruises, and my heart so willing. Heart chakra bleeding…Ribs and lungs bruised and tired of kicking. 

 

Lesson Number 3: If you only give and don’t take, no one can say anything anyway. Worn out with trying to fit in. Lesson learned: don’t show up because they didn’t want you anyway. And I didn’t want them after all this time (on the surface). But underneath I was waiting for an invitation because I craved a chance to show up as wanted.

 

When the police dogs walk away, I survey the evidence uncovered at arms length. Shush little dogs now, go home and rest. You’re not needed on the job today. Children grew up and became teenagers, then adults. Still the same games are played yet this time over coffee not cupcakes. We are more than the lessons learned on the playground. Undoing them takes stamina. Language forms and handwriting improved, I try and communicate to you. Sending the dogs home won’t keep them away when arrows rain. But now there’s a larger truth to the game. Embrace and kiss the scars on my face. Better still, send love and sweet kisses to my soft underbelly. Sit in acceptance of the unmarked places. Its okay to love yourself sweet thing. Gosh darned it if you don’t then who will?

 

When I look in the mirror what do I see? Eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and a glimmer of hope staring back at me.