"You're worth it."

All my life, I never bothered dating. I knew my place as the guy's best friend. I was never the prettiest or the smartest, but I knew how to make people laugh. 

I've known my husband since the 7th grade. We were best friends. Even then, I was head over heels for him, but never breathed a word. 

When we finally did start seeing each other seven years later, I poured my heart out to him. I'd never dated, never been kissed, came with a ton of emotional baggage. I asked him why. Why bother? Why not go find someone else? 

"You're worth it."

The first time in my life I had ever heard those three words, and it took me a very long time to believe it.

Eight years and two kids later, now I know for sure, we are worth it.

Tits for Zits

I moved to Orange County in middle school and quickly learned how vapid and cruel wealthy, attractive teenagers can be.

I had never thought of myself as ugly until then.

On most days a group of boys would walk home behind me and shout hurtful things, my personal favorite being that I had traded tits for zits.

Fifteen years later, body dysmorphia accompanied by eating disorders, and countless hours staring at my face in the mirror wondering if I really am hideous, and their words still echo in my head.

"I know you stole this"

When I was 9, I would hang out with this girl all the time. We were the same age and our moms were the same age, so we would all hang out and go to barbecues and stuff. 

I remember one day going over to their house and overhearing my friend's mother talking about a really important necklace of hers that had gone missing. She described it in detail.

When I went to use the bathroom, I remember picking up some stuffed animal, and I saw that her necklace was right under it! I was so proud to have found it, and I knew she was going to be so happy that I found it for her. 

When I excitedly told her that I found it in the bathroom, she looked at me and said, "I know you stole this." 

I remember trying to say,  "No I actually found it... " and she just interrupted and said, "No you definitely stole this. You look like the type to steal."

I was just so upset. I thought she was going to be happy with me. 

And for some reason, 14 years later I still think about that day.

"Big arms."

When I was 15, a guy told me I had big arms.

I'm now 22 and still won't wear tank tops or anything with very short sleeves.

"That's a perfectly acceptable thing for her to say"

My group of middle school girlfriends consisted of five of us total. The other four would often pair up against me in subtle but intentional ways, like ordering two Caesar salads at Cheesecake Factory for each pair to split while laughing at the fact that I was left out.

One day the five of us were hanging out with my longtime childhood friend who went to a different school, and we were all joking about how we wanted to violate all of the school rules on the last day of middle school, because there would be no consequences.

One of them joked that she'd wear a spaghetti strap tank top with her bra straps showing. Another said that she'd wear a miniskirt. I chimed in and said that I would wear like three hats.

There was an awkward silence and they all stared at me.

One of them said, "Ummm....ok..."

My childhood friend immediately reacted to this. "Whoa, why are you acting like that to her? Hats are also not allowed in school. That's a perfectly acceptable thing for her to say."

My friends didn't know how to react. They had never encountered someone standing up for me, since I had never done it myself.

It took this simple declaration from my old friend to really put into perspective how unfairly my middle school friends treated me for no reason.

Once we got to high school, we all parted ways.

"People are so mean to her, it's like not even funny"

One day in middle school, I was at my friend's house while she was chatting on AOL with this really popular girl. The popular girl asked what my friend was up to, and my friend said, jokingly, that she was hanging out with me, which is such a drag. 

The popular girl replied, "Lol, people are so mean to her, it's like not even funny."

There was an awkward silence between my friend and me, and we told the girl that my friend was joking, and that I was actually sitting right there. The popular girl scrambled for something to say to recover herself, but it was too late.

Her words had already stuck with me.

The thing is, I didn't know that everyone was mean to me. I knew I wasn't popular, but I thought I was sort of off the radar at best. The idea that "everyone" was mean to me behind my back, and that this was common knowledge, really hit me hard. 

It's been 15 years, and this memory is still as vivid as ever.

"I really thought you'd be better."

I had dreamed of being a musician from the first time my fingers touched the keys of a piano at age 3.

My father bought me the ugliest piano at auction for $10. It was the one I chose.

My parents paid for piano lessons when they could, but my love for music really took flight once I'd reached middle school and could sign up for band class. I chose the alto saxophone with the intention of moving on to the baritone sax as soon as I could. I lived, breathed and loved that sax, carting it to and from school with me on the bus every single day. Once I was old enough to drive, it was my passenger every where I went.

When I turned 16 I started working full time, trying to help the family make ends meet. Even though I worked until 1am, mine was the first car in the parking lot at school every morning, waiting at the door to be let into the band room so that I could practice before school started.

Music didn't come easily to me. I had to work hard at every song, every note. I had an ear for it, but my sight reading was my weakness. I knew even then I was never meant to be a solo player, I was meant to be with a band, whether concert or jazz, carrying it along. I worked my 40 hours and when I could, paid for private lessons with a college graduate whose choice instrument was the bari sax. I chose a music school, knowing I'd have to audition. My two best friends and I drove the 5 hours and I seemed to hold my breath the entire way. 

The morning of my audition, I was the first person in the building practicing my piece, Prelude by Bach, a beautiful Cello solo that had been transcribed for the baritone sax. I waited for my audition, half an hour past my appointed time. The head of the woodwind section of the school greeted me while still chewing. His excuse was, "I was eating lunch."

He continued to eat through my whole audition, never saying a word. When it was over he looked me up and down, took a bite of an apple and told me, "I really thought you'd be better. Are you sure you want a career in music? "
I thanked him graciously, returned home to keep working at my job, and I never played again.

Yet my fingers remember the feel of they keys beneath them, and my heart has not quite forgotten how to soar with a crescendo. I have not forgotten how to dream.

Virgin Mary

I've been sensitive and insecure for as long as I can remember. But I didn't know how sensitive and insecure I was until someone pointed out a flaw I didn't know I had. 

I was what they would call a "church girl." I went to as many church functions as possible and I absolutely loved my church family. I also had one simple promise I made to myself that meant a lot to me. I was going to stay a virgin until the night of my wedding. 

I had no idea that over half of the world did not share the same thing with me. I thought it was so common to be a virgin.

Until one day it started to be something that was used as an insult against me. I got called things like "Virgin Mary," "prude," "chastity belt". 

Being a virgin was no longer something to be proud of. It was just another thing for me to hate about myself. 

Loser.

I was in high school and we were on our way to a volleyball game. I turned to one of the gals on my team and ask if I could have her number in case of practice changes etc. She told me she doesn't give her number to losers. I didn't talk to anyone else the rest of the night.

"What does this remind you of?"

When I was in middle school, a few girls who I had grown up with and used to be friends with started being mean to me.

One day around Christmas, we were on the bus on our way home from school. I had bushy and thick eyebrows at the time because of my heritage. One of the girls, who was wearing a fuzzy rimmed Santa hat, came up to me and stared at me for a second, and started pointing at my eyebrows. She then pointed to the rim of the hat and said, "What does this remind you of?"

She immediately started laughing with a few other girls as they exited the bus. 

I was embarrassed and ashamed. I asked my mom to take me to get my brows done. I was still unhappy with the results, and now, at 26 years old, I obsessively style my eyebrows myself.

I have gotten a lot of good compliments about them, but in the back of my mind, they have to be "perfect."