Here's The Thing

Here’s the thing

From birth, my ears have stuck straight out from my head, like scissor handles, or maybe drawer pulls on the brink of comedy

And every now and then, when my directors chuckled as I tucked back my hair onstage, I wished I could do something about it

And I would never brush my hair away from my eyes because the options were my sight or theirs I preferred blindness to vulnerability

In high school, I started wearing hats, because then the attention I got was only ever my choice

And I could guarantee the reason

I was manager of the cross country team, and my freshman year, I would always show up in loose braids and my hat for good measure

Nobody got to see my ears

Ever

And that’s the way I liked it

Then sophomore year, remembering how the sun bleached my hats and flyaways stuck to my sweaty forehead, I found myself staring in the bathroom mirror

Hair tie in hand

Just breathing

And I shakily flipped my hair around, tying and looping methodically

Until I looked myself in the long-hidden eyes

And saw my ears

They stuck straight out from my head, like scissor handles, or maybe drawer pulls on the brink of comedy

And I swallowed

And walked out

Now I love to wear my hair in a ponytail, because no amount of cruel comments can justify having hair in my face when I’m trying to act or sing or play guitar or paint or read or write or run or lift weights or do one of the millions of things I spend my energy on

(Please notice that none of them are hating myself)

It hasn’t stopped there, either--

Because I choose to make my own happiness a priority

And now, whenever I make a mistake and start thinking, “Emma, you’re an IDIOT--” my knee-jerk reaction is to say

“No.

I’m not an idiot.

I just made a mistake.”

And whenever I glance at the mirror and start thinking, “Emma, you look like garbage today--” I stop and switch to

“No.

Emma, you are gorgeous

And that is the least important thing about you.”

And I have to say

That every time I flip my hair around, tying and looping methodically, I feel a twinge of pride

You see, my ears stick straight out from my head, like scissor handles, or drawer pulls on the brink of comedy

And I’ve decided not to care