Nobody puts baillee in the corner

(Shout out to the one person who will get the title by the end of the blog)

Last weekend, I went shopping at the mall with a friend. I sat in one of the chairs in the lounge area amidst the dressing rooms while she tried on all of her potential purchases. I had been sitting there for a few minutes when a beautiful young girl who couldn’t have been older than sixteen emerged from one of the dressing rooms wearing a baby doll dress. She asked her mother if she should get a belt. Instead of simply telling the daughter it wouldn’t look good with that style of dress or letting the daughter try the belt herself, the mother snapped, “No because you actually look thin [with the dress] like that.” The dressing room attendant and I exchanged glances because we couldn’t believe it, and another mother sitting at the chair across from mine shot Mommie Dearest a very dirty look.

You see, my mother has always told me I was beautiful. I’ve been showered with praise for as long as I can remember. Sure, my mother has told me when something hasn’t looked good, but it’s never been weight related. I’m 5’9, so some things have been too short. I’m not tan and dye my hair black, so some things have been the wrong color. Sizes vary from store to store, so some things have been too tight. These are all things my mother and I have said when trying on clothes, but I can honestly say my mother has never told me I was too fat or that something made me “actually look thin.” Also, I’m not here to berate the mother from the aforementioned parable. She could have not meant it the way it came out, but she also did not apologize to her daughter for her tone or the comment. The daughter looked absolutely crestfallen, and her mother didn’t even look up from her phone.

The comment stuck with me for a few hours because it’s not the first time I’ve witnessed a mother/aunt/cousin/friend/etc say something of this nature to their daughter/niece/cousin/friend/etc. Also, comments like this are what I have learned to ignore over the past few years. Here is my official disclaimer for the rest of this blog post: if you don’t want to know about some personal things from my past, stop reading now.

For those of you who don’t know, I battled Anorexia for the entirety of my freshman year of high school. Not only am I a 5’9” individual, but I also do not have a tiny frame. To give you an idea of the severity of my eating disorder, I did not weigh more than 115 lbs for my entire freshman year. I was overweight growing up, and I was surrounded by rude kids in an image-driven town, and I let these ideas consume me. I would work out constantly and ditch my friends to avoid eating out. It took my best friend and mother crying and introducing the idea of rehab to finally get me back on track.

Throughout the next couple of years of high school, I gained weight back, and the comments started again. I had an amazing group of friends and an unbelievable support system, but there were those cliche high school pricks who got off on belittling others. There was one particular individual who made me cry on multiple occasions, and another girl who pointed out the fact I had stretchmarks during one band practice when I stretched and approximately one inch of my stomach was exposed. These are the comments that I let resonate with me instead of all of the loving and encouraging messages of my family and friends. There were certain things I lied about liking to avoid ridicule. Despite appearances, I was uncomfortable in my own skin.

When I finally moved to Austin on my eighteenth birthday, my exploration of the city helped me to realize how inclusive Austin is. During my freshman year of college, I met like-minded people who could both carry on intelligent conversations about the underlying religious themes in Fight Club and know all the words to the High School Musical soundtrack. I felt like I could be totally open and honest about all of my interests. Over the course of the next two years, I learned I could express myself however I chose to, which resulted in a lip ring and a million different hair cuts and colors. My confidence continued to increase until it finally peaked last year. It took me until my senior year of college to become comfortable in my own skin because last year is when I started getting tattoos. I got a sparrow on each shoulder blade to represent my freedom. A month later, I got Petunia from The Adventures of Pete and Pete to remind me to always be my unique self. no matter what. In February of this year, I got my mom’s signature, and next week, I am getting a tattoo with Jane Lane from Daria as the centerpiece.

Yes, I might not have the perfect body. I have stretchmarks and loose skin in places. I hate working out, I sometimes eat an entire large, stuffed crust pizza from Pizza Hut (#productplacement) over the course of a couple hours, and I’m totally okay with that. My tattoos help me to show the different sides of my personality and interests. They make me unique. They help me to express myself. Most importantly, they help me to not be self-conscious about certain parts of my body. If I haven’t been honest enough, I’m getting my next tattoo on my left shoulder because I’ve always had a thing about my arms, and I’m sick of it. But enough about me, let’s get to you.

If no one has ever told you, you are beautiful and kind and smart and unique, and no one can take that away from you. You are perfect, no matter your size, shape, race, or sexual orientation. You are amazing because you are you. Express yourself however you so choose, whether it be tattoos, piercings, dancing, singing, hair color, painting, or underwater basket weaving. Don’t let anyone tell you who you are or what you can do. If no one has ever told you any of these things, or you ever need positive affirmation, message me. I promise I mean every word.

Okay, so next week, it’ll be back to your regularly scheduled cheeky blog post, but for now, I’ll leave you with this: don’t be afraid to wear that pink tutu and Doc Martins. I’m sure as hell not anymore.