Cultivating Self-Love: Life as a Late Bloomer

I know you've heard of them, and maybe you even know one, but do you know what it's like to be a late bloomer?

I'm not talking about a girl who doesn't go through puberty til her late teens. I'm talking about the kind of person for whom things seem to happen way after they've happened to everyone else.

Confession: I am a late bloomer.

For one, I've never quite felt like I knew what I wanted my future to look like, beyond a few vague ideas involving travel, writing, and dance. I wasn't one of those kids who wanted to be an astronaut, or a CEO. I wanted to see the pyramids in Egypt, write a book, live on the Coast, run a bookstore, and dance in my free time. I also wanted to be a superspy. But nothing concrete.

I went into college thinking I wanted to major in theater (bet you didn't know that about me). I really wanted to make movies, but when it come to making decisions, I couldn't make the right ones for that to happen. After two years at community college, I had my epiphany: I would major in French. A year later, another epiphany came: I would minor in Art History. I took six years to get that degree, something most people do in four (granted, there was a move and varying graduation requirements).

Heading into the workforce, I still had no idea what I wanted to really do. Originally, I wanted to go to grad school and become an Art History professor. Fate stepped in and helped me change my mind, but that left me feeling a bit lost. I'm finally learning to accept that I still don't know where this career is heading, and that maybe I should look at it as a good thing (something that is open to possibilities).

And then there's the fact that I was a late bloomer when it came to my looks. I was a bit of an ugly duckling during my teenage years, no joke. I never wore the right brands, my hair was a mess, I had hideous glasses, and I was overweight and had to wear old lady bras (no such thing as cute full-chested bras back then). Things started looking up when I got my eyebrows waxed for the first time, and started wearing contacts. But I was still overweight, still dowdy.

I have a journal entry from my early twenties where I wrote that I hoped to be a hottie by the time I was 30. I actually felt like one at about 27- I was finally getting my hair under control, I was the thinnest I'd ever been, I was dancing, and running, and could wear dresses and look awesome. Perhaps the years of being and feeling unattractive made me appreciate what I've grown into a bit more.

But then there's the bigger way that I'm a late bloomer. In the romantic department. Have you noticed I don't talk a whole lot about my love life on here? I tend to prefer to keep that part of my life under wraps- it's too vulnerable, and it's bad enough to have my feelings hurt and be let down, but to have them hurt and let down in front of other people is too raw for my liking.

Through junior high and high school, I was not focused on boys at all (granted, I had seen examples of teen pregnancy which kind of freaked me out- a kid would totally ruin my future travel plans).  I also thought boys were kind of awful- they tended to tease and torment and threaten to kill (true story: a boy in 8th grade threatened to kill me in Art class). Or pester in a very uncomfortable way. Boys were bad as far as I was concerned.

One time, in 9th grade, I think, a boy asked me out while we were in the library for English class. I turned him down, fearing that his friends put him up to it as a joke. I really, truly believed no one ould ask me out for real. Looking back, I think it's possible that may not have been the case- we had been sort of friends in 5th grade.

Did I mention I went stag to prom? One of the prom princes pity-danced with me during one of the last songs, which was sweet. I had never met him, never known who he was before then, but he was friendly with me and I appreciated the kindness. Pretty sure one of my friends who was a prom princess put him up to it. He went on to be a firefighter, which I thought fitting. Sometimes princes turn out to be good guys.

In college, I was focused on getting straight A's. I didn't get them (hard to when you get a B in Drama 201 the first semester), but I did graduate summa cum laude. Needless to say, dating, and most socializing (though I managed to make some great friends) was not a concern of mine. I also still felt like an ugly duckling.

So when did I start dating? Age 28. Some people think that's weird. I call it being a late bloomer. There's a reason Persuasion is my favorite Jane Austen. I also love stories about people finding love later in life, because it means it could still happen for me.

That's the thing: all along, I've wanted to be loved. I've wanted someone to fall in love with me- I just never really thought it could happen to me (in the past, I've had a hard time believing good things could happen to me).

And here I am, 31, with only one relationship under my belt, still wondering if it will ever happen to me. I've yet to hear the magic words, and still have so many firsts to uncover. Just this week, I faced yet another rejection, and I can tell how far I've come by how well I handled it.

See, that's another way I'm a late bloomer- I'm 31 and just now learning how to love myself. Rejection doesn't mean there's something wrong with me, that I'm ugly, or that I did something wrong. It just means that it wasn't a good fit. I'm finally feeling good about who I am and what I have to offer, and yeah, it may have come later in life than it did for others, but it's here now, and it's growing.

That's right, guys. I'm blooming.

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Cultivating Self-Love: The Ghost of Haircuts Past

Have you ever had a haircut that made you want to cry? A style so terrible you felt you couldn't show your face in public? I've been there, believe me.

In fact, my hair has seen all kinds of styles, good and bad. As a kid, I really wanted Stephanie Tanner's hair (of Full House fame). I was born neither blond nor curly-headed so I had to make do with Sun-In and a perm. Sadly, my hair is so stick-straight that my perm tended to have some flat spots in it.

There was also a time when my mom cut my hair so short that the kids in my class called me a boy. I began first grade with long, thick hair, and ended it with a weird short style. In school, our class would march to lunch in two lines: boys and girls. Boys sat on one side of the table while girls sat on the other. After my terrible haircut, my classmates made me sit on the boys' side of the table. Kids are cruel.

As I got older and my coloring changed, I couldn't pull off blond any more (who knows- maybe I never could). When I was 15 I decided I wanted to try highlights in my hair- and had my mom do it. She used one of those kits with a cap and lets just say she pulled way too much hair through the cap. I became a blonde (pictured above). I was horrified and mortified, even though everyone was much nicer to me about the change. After a few weeks, I had my mom dye my hair back to brown. Which just turned my hair black. Jet black. No going back.

Thankfully, several long months later, my mom took me to a professional who corrected the color of my hair. I no longer trust anyone outside of a salon to cut or color my hair.

I've even come to associate some haircuts with certain periods of my life. I tend to go through phases of growing my hair long and then chopping it all off (my own personal flair for the dramatic). I've had both short and long hair while living in France (my hair grows really fast), and short and long hair in high school. In junior high my hair was a horrible rats nest, so you won't be seeing those pictures here. For the past couple years, I was working on growing out my hair so I could have long, luscious bellydancer locks.

As it turns out, my hair fantasy does not match my hair reality. I'd love to have gorgeous long layers that curl perfectly. The reality is that my hair is slippery and stick-straight. It's hard enough keeping it in a ponytail let alone adding some curl (which will disappear after an hour).

So, after some serious thought (come one, I know I'm not the only one who thinks seriously about her hair), I decided to chop it.

Before

After

I can accept all of the trials my hair has been through in the past, for I've learned some valuable lessons. The biggest one? Stay true to who you are and what works for you. Sometimes reality is better than the fantasy.

Have you ever had a horrible hairdo? I want to hear all about it! Share your story in the comments below.

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