Here I am walking into a room full of perfect strangers with an outfit that says, “I’m definitely stylish but comfortable enough in my own skin that I could wear my grandmother’s floral green dress.” What I’m really thinking is that I look ridic; in fact, if I have half a brain at least I should definitely turn back and call in sick. Mind you, I’m not feeling terribly confident. Especially since it’s I am about to meet the very people that have never laid eyes on me in person but have exchanged countless messages with me via the power of the internet. I do feel great about myself considering I do not have a crystal-ball-sized pimple screaming for attention on my cheek except maybe those chicken pox scars that have nowhere to go for the next two hours. I avoided this meeting as best as I could but today is the day that I face the music and be a normal girl that writes for some magazine that could be in few years be a popular thing .Sure, I have some great advice (I credit all the books I have read and the movies I have watched) for all those funny sayings up my sleeve. I am so frightened! I have promised myself that I will adult gracefully and own who I am and that includes the unfortunate hand fate handed to me.
Half the time, I blame my parents for giving me a name that attracts attention wherever I go and that includes the veggie teller in the supermarket who enjoys shouting my name on the Mic for everyone to hear. Sometimes I feel damn unlucky to have a name like mine and a face that has battle scars from one roller-coaster year .You’d think admitting to feeling unlucky is the kind of thing that would qualify as an innermost thought. Innermost thoughts are in fact those deep thoughts that are born in your hours of indecision, low esteem and live and die inside of you without a glimmer of hope that they will see the living daylight. The only time they crawled out of the darkness was when I drunk called my BFF and the convo went something like, ‘You know, I’ve never told anybody this, but…’You’d think someone with any self-awareness or a good enough filter or enough brain would know better by now than to confess these types of things to another living breathing person. But you’d be wrong.
I have never told anyone that my name has contributed to a low self-esteem as I have had for the past 20+ years and I am only grateful for the 10 that I did not know what it meant. What’s in a name? Pretty much a rollercoaster free ride from trauma .Is there a refund on crappy names? How do you deal with having the worst name and surname?