The following is a guest post by Meredith Young.
She is breathtaking.
She is a princess, you say. A prince, equally handsome, rich, intelligent, kind, and generous, always sweeps into the picture. The two go off into the sunset, leaving the others to sigh and wish for their chance at romantic bliss.
What’s wrong with this picture? It’s beautiful.
But what happens if our lives don’t happen to match up with that “ideal”? Does that make us less of that ideal girl? How do we define ourselves when we don’t fit into the fairytale mold?
That became the foundation of my insecurity. Through middle school, a time already full of emotional and physical change, I struggled even more with not being the lovely Princess. Perhaps, I thought, if I will never look like the fairytale princess, then maybe I can act like her; I would have excellent manners, a soft speaking voice, constant kindness, and love for nature. This mission also failed me.
I’m naturally a passionate person with strong opinions, and growing up, I had yet to learn how to balance my passion with wisdom. I was snotty, stubborn, and awkward. I loved nature but would never be seen singing with the woodsy animals that princesses seemed to love.
As I went through high school, I grew cynical. I was going to be a realistic girl now. I was going to face the world as it actually was. But I still harbored that desire. I hated all of the guys at my high school because they were so far from Prince Charming, and yet I craved their attention; even from these less-than-perfect guys I felt valued.
That was where I fell. This desire for attention and for my own prince came to a climax during my sophomore year of high school. A certain boy (we’ll call him Peter) took interest in me; he wasn’t attractive, but he was nice, and I took his attention to mean exactly what he wanted. The first six months flew by like a dream: I would go to his house after school, and we would hold hands and watch movies. We would go out for ice cream or fast food, and attend school plays together.
But Peter decided he wanted something else. He would repeatedly pressure me for sex, tricking me into thinking that if I didn’t give in, he wouldn’t love me, and I would no longer have any value as a person. As he drove me home I would collapse in tears, sometimes while I was still in the car, and he would instantly command me to stop crying. I knew life wasn’t supposed to be like this, but I didn’t know how to ask for help. I was so ashamed that my parents would hate me once they found out; it took me a year to break up with Peter, and two years to tell my parents.
My prince had failed me, and I was failing me, too. Every structure in my life was falling apart, and I lost sight of who God was in the midst of all of this. The one thing I needed the most—a consistent, living relationship with God to feed and define me—was the one thing elusive and forgotten.
To be continued on Thursday…
With my own money to spend, some days I go into a store and see a cute little pair of flats that would go with my favorite outfit just right. Or the perfect black purse with Silver accents… and I actually have enough money to buy what I want! But… sometimes I hesitate at the shoe rack because
