Ugly Duckling

I took out all the old photos. Just to see her, the girl I used to avoid in department store mirrors.

I look at her, fat, thin, worried, happy, pimply, clear faced, long hair, short hair, all the same. I feel her. I see her. I am her. I realize those days are gone, but I'm still her. She is still me, I see her in the rejection and daily minor failures, both perceived and real. She is the reason for my self doubt, for my hate of form fitting dresses, for my sadness and fear of just never being enough. She can't tan, just like me. She has hair that has no color, no shine. She has eyes that are muddy green and have such poor vision on their own. I see her in a lot of people. I see her in other girls, younger and older. In my assistant, in the people I interact with, my awkward teenaged cousins. I want to hug her. To tell her she wasn't as bad as she believed. She wasn't alone.

She may be gone, but she lives on in me, around me.

She gave me my empathy, something I'm complimented on. She gave me my humor, my vigor, my extroversion. I owe to her many of the times I'll recount when in need of a laugh, the awful taste that drove me to my career, the plight I shared with my current best friend back then, the run in with a bully turned long term boyfriend years later. She made it possible.

Every woman in fashion was like her once. She;s my best kept secret and unlikely closest ally.

And it is to her, I am, eternally grateful.