Revolutionary Beauty

I’m sitting on her bed, leaned back against a pillow with my legs tucked up near me. She is telling me about friendship and my heart is breaking open. Words tumble from her mouth in a flood of breath and I think, I don’t know how to help.

Memories of my youth fill my head along with my sisters’ voice. Just this summer, when she visited, she sat on my couch and talked about growing up without friends. I saw. Being only a year younger, I remember…yet somehow the depth, the severity, escaped me then. I was so busy following people around, pretending that I was more outgoing, more comfortable, more of everything I wasn’t, to notice how deep my sisters’ pain was.

My mom must have cried a lot, I think now.

There I was, a world of trouble and anger and rebellion, so self-absorbed and trying to find my own way. And there was my sister, brilliant and kind, but a type of lonely that few understand.

The world can be so cruel.

My daughter is beautiful. She excels in her classes. She possesses an understanding of people that isn’t common in high schoolers. She is a fierce friend. Loyal. Trusting. Kind. She is a peacemaker, a bridge builder, a shining light in a sometimes dark world.

She tells me she feels invisible.

I see. I notice it happening. And I think, these girls...they don’t know what they are doing, what they are missing.

She tells me they use her, that they are friendly when they want help with their coursework, their relationships, their emotions. They want to talk but they don’t want to listen. She has grown tired of sharing her work, her heart, her ears, and then being forgotten. She wants them all to leave her alone, she says.

I think what she really wants is to be seen.

I worry that when she looks in the mirror she cannot see herself anymore. That even though she puts on a brave face and tells me she doesn’t care, inside she is falling apart. I worry that she will never know how amazing she is. That slowly over time, she will fail to see and know her own worth because of the story the world is telling her.

 “I wasn’t made for a small town, I guess,” she says. “But I’m sure it wouldn’t be any better in a city…”

I hate to hear her think this. Not everywhere is unwelcoming, I think. I tell her there are other places where the people are open and accepting. I tell her she just has to survive high school. I have to believe somewhere out there, there are people who will see this child and want to know her, want to spend time with her, value her as much as I do.

I know, I know, I am her mother. But every child is precious and mine is no exception. This world is better for having her in it. She surprises me with her insights and delights me with her humor. She is brave and strong in ways that I always wished I could be.

To me, she is one of the most interesting teenagers I’ve ever known. She has deep thoughts. She is introspective and considers ideas and perspectives that aren’t her own. She is creative. She cares about other people. She is boldly herself and values non-conformity more than she cares about being popular or wearing trendy clothes or fitting in.

She fearlessly continues to be herself.

And more than anything, I want her to continue to be this way. I want her to be able to look in the mirror and know that she is enough, just the way she is. I want her to know her value and never let it be dependent on anyone else’s opinion of her.

I want her to know with every fiber of her being that in this world, being herself is the most beautiful and revolutionary thing.