Killing My Cinderella

I looked at the doll and thought it was the prettiest thing I had ever seen in all my six years alive.

It wore a red velvet trimmed dress. Her blue eyes would closed when I laid her down. I was relieved to see them open again once I had her back to standing. Pretty white skin, shiny black shoes, a ribbon in her straight blond hair. She had everything I didn't.

I played with my new toy all day. At bedtime, my aunt came to collect the doll. I didn't want to give it to her. She told me it was time to put it up and protect it, otherwise I might ruin it if I played with it too much. She assured me I could play with it again the next day.

But that wasn't what happened.

I wasn't allowed to play with it. I could admire it on the shelf it was kept at and maybe if it was a special day, I could play if I was supervised. Otherwise, the doll was off limits.

I obeyed the silly rule for the most part. When no one was around, I'd use a chair to reach the shelf. Careful to touch the toy, I wondered when I could be found worthy to play with it again.

I don't think I ever did. I grew up and forgot about her. She's probably still there on that damn shelf gathering dust.

But that was the beginning of my self-imposed rule: I wasn't meant to have the best. I was to settle for what I should.

The day I woke up and changed everything was all thanks to underwear.

Let me explain. Every girl has a nice underwear, but every girl also has the other kind of underwear. You know? Granny panties or  whatever is cotton and cheap, because no matter how hard you try you'll manage to stain it with blood. It's gross, but it's true. Periods are disgusting.

Anyways, yes, underwear. So, I made myself use the ratty kind first before I used the nice kind, even if I wasn't on my period. And I don't even know why I'd follow that stupid rule. The accidental times I broke it, when I'd grab the nice underwear instead, I felt so guilty. I was breaking the rule and how dare I be so decadent to think I deserved the best things!

This kind of guilt spread to other things of course (that's another post entirely), but let's just focus on my closet for now.

In my head, I'd make up reasons for why I couldn't wear the best things I bought.  You can't wear that dress. Save it for a special occasion. No, not those shoes. They were expensive. Use them for someone's wedding. Put the purse back. It's too nice to be using that everyday. Only for the holidays. 

I glanced at the mirror one day and stopped short.

Cinderella looked back at me.

 Unhappy, unpretty, and older than I was, she was wearing clothes taken from the clearance section at Old Navy. The shirt made her look shapeless and the capri pants her look dowdy (BTW, don't ever wear capri pants. They make everyone's ankles look stumpy). Gross marshmallow looking sneakers adorned her feet. And she reeked of the cheap Forever 21 perfume I had just sprayed on.

Is that me? I thought. "I look terrible."

And for what? For whom? I was the jailer here. No one was telling me to live like this. This self imposed exile from my own things was a prison of my own making. I was the one saying to myself to wait.

Wait for what? Wait until I was worth it? If I was saving the best for last...did that mean I had to be dying to enjoy all of it at once? And if the future I kept preparing for never came? Did I just waste a life abstaining from pleasure rightfully mine?

And why the fuck was I trapping myself into this kind of life when I had all the ingredients to make it better?

I wasn't Cinderella waiting for a fairy godmother here. I could make my life all better if I wanted to do so. I was my very own evil Stepmother for no reason. And that was so messed up, so deeply fucked up, that it woke me up. Broke the spell. Curse lifted. A change in me so viscerally deep that my spirit was changed forever.

I undressed and took a shower to wash off the stench of the cheap perfume. Afterwards, naked, a clean slate, I started over using everything I wanted.

First, was the perfume. I used Dolce & Gabbana. Delicious. I felt pretty already. Next came that pretty forbidden underwear.

I turned on my closet light and tried not to feel angry or berate myself when I admitted there were a lot of unworn clothes. They all fit me. They weren't waiting for me to lose weight, just get my shit together.

I picked a structured black dress I got from The Limited. I ignored the voice telling me to take it off and put on something else.

Carelessly, I knocked over the jenga structure of shoe boxes searching for the red shoes I had been dying to wear since I first saw them at Nordstrom. Uncovering them was Christmas in July.

After that, I put on the shiny earrings I could never find a reason to wear. And last, the Tom Ford lipstick I was given for Christmas six months before.

I stepped back, looked at myself, and  marveled at the difference.

Cinderella was gone. I killed her. This girl looked nothing like her. She stood taller. She was smiling. And she looked effing good.

I felt stupid for not doing this sooner.

I don't know why I thought I had to wait. I don't know why I didn't disobey my aunt and played with that damn doll. I wasn't a second class person, forbidden to fun or pleasure. These were my things, earned by own hands. Why should I deny myself the pleasure of enjoying them?

I donated the crappy clothes, threw away the crappy underwear, and recycled the manish sneakers that day. I made myself promise never to go back.

Living like this has changed everything. The stuff itself didn't free me from my curse. It was the realization that I was good enough to use the stuff if I wanted to. I was worth it. Not just having the stuff but everything and so much more. I was worth it.

I realize now that I had taken the first steps to loving myself that day. I think I got tired of waiting to be rescued and be treated well. No one else was going to do it for me if I didn't do it first. I was setting the example on how other people should treat me.

Others could try to love me but until I love myself ...well, I'd never really understand what love was really like. Up to that point, I was dependent on other people to love me. It was no wonder those relationships quickly flared dead. It's too much to expect from one person. It's not supposed to work that way. It's your job to love yourself first.

I urge you to take out that item that you've been admiring and saving and use it. Allow yourself to experience the happiness you're denying yourself. You bought the stuff, you obviously love it, so use it.

You can't take it with you. Life is so very short. Grab the joy with both hands and enjoy because you are worth it.