On any given day in any given place, there are girls; girls that are talking, girls that are eating, girls that are laughing, girls that are simply existing. Being a girl myself, I notice other girls. Maybe I look at the way they wear their hair, or internally compliment the shirt they’re wearing, or wish that I had a figure like theirs.
Some days, all I can think about is the fact that I’m not “that girl”.
I’m not the girl who is five feet two inches tall with a petite frame. I’m far from it. I’m five feet eleven inches with legs that crash together at the knees and a crooked spine that never got a chance to straighten out. You can’t pick me up and carry me around on a whim. If I was shampoo, she would be travel sized and I’d be shoved in your luggage. Sometimes, I wish I was a cute size. But I’m not “that girl”.
I’m definitely not the girl who struts around the gym in a cut-off like she owns the place and the people in it. Sure, I love the lifting routine I’ve dedicated myself to more than five years, but when I squeeze into my jeans every morning, I feel my love handles and belly pouch refusing to conform. You would almost never catch me in a cut-off either. Walking down the street, I can feel myself vibrating like my body is mocking me for eating that second cookie. Man, do I wish I looked as good as her in leggings, but I’m not “that girl”.
I’m certainly not the girl who can climb out of bed ready for class. The mirror is my enemy in the morning, for it shows me the angry red dots I dread seeing on my cheeks, little stop signs warning me not to leave the room without makeup. Or eyebrows, for that matter. Why couldn’t I have strong eyebrows? And a maybe a nose birds wouldn’t try to land on? Why am I not “that girl”?
I’m not the girl who eats kale and quinoa for every meal.
I’m not the girl who has cute handwriting or a perfectly organized desk.
Every day feels like a tug of war game with “that girl”. But recently I’ve come to realize something: is anyone “that girl”?
Each woman, no matter how strong or beautiful they seem, would tell you in some way that they’re not her. “That girl” doesn’t exist. The women we look at and wish we could be more like, even in the slightest, look at women and see them as “that girl”. And it goes on.
So no, I am not the petite girl, or the fit girl, or the beautiful-all-of-the-time girl.
I am this girl.
This girl has hustle like no one has ever seen. This girl is going to keep working hard and trying her best to not give a damn how she compares to other girls because women supporting women is how we win. This girl realizes that she has one body, one mind, and one spirit that is hers to love and is wasting precious moments worrying if she could ever be “that girl” when the answer is already “no.” No one is.
Today, don’t be “that girl”. Be this girl, the one you were meant to be.
Author: Sam Raudins
Email: [email protected]
Author Bio: Sam is a journalism major at Ohio State who lives for football and good iced chai lattes. She runs her own blog, and writes for The Lantern and the Odyssey. Soon, she will be starting a football column by a woman for women at the Ohio State chapter of Her Campus.
Link to social media or website: http://theinternalmonologue.weebly.com
