Someday I will stop feeling like I’m not good enough.

Now, my mom and I thriving on our own. All of the nice things I have I purchase myself. We hardly see each other but she occasionally visits me at work or we watch a Netflix show together, so we can check up on each other. My cat keeping me company and wipes my occasional tears with her furry face, cuddling me with her warm body at night. Yet I still find myself getting into trouble sometimes and letting my mom down.

Growing up everyone around me telling me I was fat, ugly, and that I would never amount to anything. Tenth grade. Eighty-five pounds. Fat. ¨You could never be a model.¨She said. ¨Those shorts don’t go with your cottage cheese legs.¨ She snickered. ¨Are you sure you don’t need a large?¨ She bluntly said. All of these questions with no answers. These words stabbing me in the throat like clean, sharp razor blades making clean, deep cuts. 

Middle school was the biggest mountain I’ve had to climb in my life. Struggling with who I was and who I wanted to be. Looking at the girls around me and realizing they wore expensive things and I wanted those things. I wanted those high-waisted skirts and the long-sleeve crop tops. But, I was petrified. People seeing my tiger scratches on my thighs or pudgy belly. Leggings and hoodies were my best friend throughout that period of time -- even in ninety-degree weather.

Beginning with divorce and fights. Boxes and trucks my whole childhood. Relocating every year and never finding a true home. Friends never initiated, my self-esteem depleted. My father scarcely being there, his black 2006 Mustang with purple brakes being more important than his kids. His words wrapping their hands around my throat choking out all of the confidence I’ve had.

Someday I will stop feeling like I’m not good enough.