RETURN OF THE UGLY LITTLE GIRL

I called my brother’s wife the other day and we chatted long-distance for thirty minutes. Thirty minutes. Half an hour. Once third the time I spend in group therapy each week.

My sister-in-law began the conversation by telling me how much she missed me. Inside my stomach, a hundred fluttering butterflies took joyful flight.

My sister-in-law described my nieces – who I hadn’t seen in years. It seems my elder niece reminds my family of me: wide-hipped and flat-busted. And my younger niece has my disposition: very intelligent but not a lick of common sense. The butterflies dropped to the pit of my stomach and lay there, comatose.

And then my sister-in-law remarked how we both had birthdays approaching. Of course, she reminded me, at least she was still in her thirties. My butterflies died. Probably of old age.

After our goodbyes, hers bubbly and mine forced, I retreated to my bedroom. As I passed my full-length mirror, I caught sight of myself. Horror of horrors! I was staring at a twelve-year-old, flat-busted, wide-hipped, freckle-faced, scabby-kneed, stubby-fingered, buck-toothed girl. I knew that girl, even thought I’d pretend not to if I met her on the street. The ugly little girl that no one loved had returned!

I stood stupefied. I reached out to touch her, and all I felt was the hard cold glass and my own fear. She’s so ugly, I thought. No wonder no one loved her. I don’t even like her – and she’s me.

No, she’s not, a little voice deep within my soul whispered. That familiar voice reminded me, You’re who you think you are, and not who your family thinks you are. You decide. They don’t even get a vote.

I stood staring at the little girl, thinking how sad she looked. And how lonely.

Hey, little girl, look here, I said, stripping off my clothes. Look how you’re gonna turn out.

And I looked, and she looked, and we both watched.

Turn around and look at those legs, I said. No longer bony, they curve in and out, and back in, and then out again. When you stand with those legs together, look how they touch each other, and then move away, and then touch each other again. It looks like a still-life dance, doesn’t it? Put your index finger her, just so, and bend your knee. The flesh behind your knee hugs your finger. Doesn’t that feel good?

Look at those thighs. No longer skinny, they jiggle and bounce, and when you squeeze the soft flesh, it ripples and changes shape. Feel the inside of your thighs. Did you ever feel anything so soft and warm? And look where they lead? Isn’t that lovely, too?

Look at this butt. No one has to tell you to stick it out so you don’t look so skinny: it sticks out all by itself. Way out. Your butt is round and fat and when you walk, you can watch the cheeks take turns bulging. Feel it. Feel the roundness, the womanliness. Tighten the cheeks. Did you ever see so many cute dimples?

Turn around and look at your hips. No longer just wide, they’ve spread out in the other direction, too. You’re round now. Round like Mother Earth. Round like Father Moon. See those scars? They tell a story. One says good-bye to a sick gall bladder. The other reminds you that you don’t have to worry about failing PAP smear tests anymore. And look at your navel. It used to be an outie; now it’s definitely an innie.

See your breasts sloping on top, round and full underneath. Touch them. They’re warm, aren’t they? They feel like love. If you press your left breast, you can feel your heartbeat. If you lift your breast, and place your hand flat underneath, when you let go of your breast, it hides half of your hand. If you look between your breasts, you'll find another scar. This one to bypass your wonderful heart.

And your neck. It’s superb. Your neck holds your head so proudly, like a mother holds her firstborn. Put your finger on the base of your neck and feel your heartbeat again. Aren’t you full of life?

Look at your face. See the lines around your mouth, evidence of a million smiles. See those little lines around your eyes, evidence of a million tears. Look deep into your eyes. Can you see your soul?

The ugly little girl in the mirror grew into curves and bulges and pouches and stream-lined angles. She stood straight and proud.

There, I told her. Do you know who we are? We are who we want to be. And I think we’re perfect, just as we are. How about you?

c1994 Linda S Amstutz

"Return of the Ugly Little Girl" premiered in Radiance Magazine