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Introduction There are a lot of great books on the shelves for teenage girls. So what's special about this one? Having this book is like having your very own congregation of favorite aunts looking out for you only on paper, and small enough to fit into your purse. This book gives you compelling true stories from fabulous women that care about teenage girls. These are stories that you can turn to for genuine information, especially about the tougher things in life. These women get that you have a lot to handle, that you sometimes have to deal with some pretty heavy topics, and that you are smarter and more capable than you may sometimes get credit for. These women have "been there done that" and are happy to share the details with you, dishing their experiences with insight and optimism and also managing to shine a bright light on the incredible inner resources that you might not even know you have. In the real world there is struggle and hardship and frustration and pain. There is also joy and beauty and victory and love. The real world is multi-dimensional, and so is this book. In the real world there are seventeen-year-old girls who have never been kissed, and there are thirteen-year-old girls who have babies. There are girls who have grown up in poverty who have searched for ways to escape their pain, just as there are girls who have grown up in multi-million dollar mansions who have searched for ways to escape their pain. There are girls who have no sense of their value who float through each day with no clue what they are truly capable of, and there are girls who have always known how valuable they are who face each day with hope and confidence. The stories in this book speak to a wide range of experiences. Some of what you read will feel like it was written with you in mind. Some of what you read may seem so far removed from your life that it has no relevance. Embrace the stories that speak to you, and consider the rest a rare glimpse into other perspectives and experiences. This book will not preach. It will not condescend. It will not judge. It will not tell you how to live your life - that's your job. As you share in the stories of the women who have contributed to this book you will probably find yourself exploring your own values and opinions. You might also learn a little bit more about what you are capable of and how you want to live your life. While this book will not hand you any answers, there is a good chance that you will discover some of your own along the way. ~~~~~ Eating My Way from the Inside Out By Kristin Wehner I AM UGLY. AND SO STUPID. With this big, White stomach- Rolling and rolling around my body. I want to disappear But instead I'm Big And white And fleshy And disgusting. (Winter, first year of college) When did it all start? It's so hard to pinpoint a time because it feels like it was there from the start. But if I had to pick a time, I think it was fourth grade. I used to pack my own lunch because I wanted to make sure that I knew exactly what I was going to get to eat. I had already convinced myself that something about that cafeteria food wasn't going to do right by me. I already felt uncomfortable in my body. Angry and sad. I want this to GO AWAY! Something is eating me up. Eating up my insides until they're gone. The venom just eats, rots me. I'm eating myself from the inside out. (Spring, first year of college) The tricks and habits that I taught myself started so benignly, and I think that my parents might have just thought I was a health-conscious kid. Making sure I always had fruits and vegetables in my lunch. Deciding that soda was a silly waste of calories. No butter on my bread, please! But the safety I felt in controlling my food and my body was intoxicating. And the attention I received for my food requests always made me feel special. It was such a slippery slope, and the boundaries between "ok" and "not ok," between "good" attention and "bad" attention started to blur. Soon it became less about making sure I had fresh produce in my lunch and more about keeping my world intact. No red meat for me! I'll just have half of that, thanks. Of course a piece of bread and yogurt is one my FAVORITE meals. WHEW--my hips still create a bony bowl when I lie down. Can you see my collarbones? I want everyone to see my collarbones. She's hiding. Somewhere behind that sigh. She wants to emerge From the utter anonymity In which she resides. She wants to be the only presence Seen, felt, heard. But, for now, She's hiding. Behind the anger The habits The loathing And the unconscious drive That I am. (Winter, sophomore year of college) I started talking to a therapist because my older brother told me he thought I should. I spent spring break with him during my sophomore year of college and he saw first-hand how freaked out I got around food. During my first visit with the therapist, I explained to her how I only felt ok when I had my schedule. I'd write, re-write, and then write again what I was going to eat, how I was going to exercise and study, what I needed to do, in what order, and how it needed to happen. I felt ok when I got to mark things off my list. I felt good when I ate "good" food, when I ran or swam, when calories out exceeded calories in. I knew the nutritional content of everything I ate. Memorized. This was when I actually felt a smile on my lips and the tightness in my heart lessen. The self-deprecating thoughts that would pound from temple to temple in my head would begin to recede. But this kind of control was fleeting. Soon the chaos of life would interfere with my ordered world and I would fall apart. My therapist said it was an "eating disorder." My journal entry from that day says, " an eating disorder? That's a DISGUSTING thing for me to think. But it's true." Don't touch me- I don't want to see your repulsion. I'm so twisted And tortured And disgusted With the burden I carry. I don't love the parts of me that are Wrong Imperfect Tainted And ignored. Just look at me. Talk to me. Listen to me. I'm inside me. Untwisting the knots Calming the fear Claiming my burden And letting it go. I'm working so hard. You can touch me. I'm ok. I'm not perfect. But I'm ok. (Spring, sophomore year of college) I met with my therapist every week for many months. My journal entries and poems from that time show a roller coaster of healing. Sometimes I knew that I "got it," that food and my relationship to my body were not going to control me anymore. Then I would trip and fall. I would think I was never getting out from the pit I was in. For a long time I didn't want people around me to know what I was going through. I was ashamed. What once made me feel special now just made me feel imprisoned. Alone. I AM Freedom and beauty I am careless and carefree I BELIEVE! I know I am light and energy And a dark, murky circle of solace I AM DIVINE And strong I am lithe and movement I am tears and laughter I am running, and crying, and BEING I AM HERE! (Summer, junior year of college) Eight years after I first recognized that I had an eating disorder, and 20 years after I first fell under its power, I sometimes slip briefly into that place where control is my friend and food and my body are my enemies. But it happens infrequently, and when I go there, it doesn't fit me anymore - it's like wearing a shirt that's too tight. Now, if I catch a sideways glimpse of myself in the mirror when I'm changing or getting out of the shower, I stop to look and I smile. I love the broad, powerful shoulders that I see. The strong legs and the graceful slope of my low back. My stomach and hips are curved and rounded like a woman's, not straight and flat like a little girl's. And, indeed, I AM HERE. ~~~~~ Good Days Ahead By Hazel Miller When I was 17 I tried to kill myself. Why? Because my boyfriend broke up with me. I was heartbroken. I felt lost and so broken that I could not imagine being without him. I couldn't understand why he didn't love me. I was a very lonely and unpopular teenager. When Bobby and I met we were drawn to each other. I had someone to talk to, to walk with. I was suddenly "normal". Everything seemed to be great. I was shocked when he came to me, just before my birthday, and said he didn't want to see me or talk to me again. He was going to college and he wanted to be free to see other girls. I called too many times and annoyed his family. I made myself sick going over every word, every happy moment we spent together. Then I decided that I could not stand the loneliness. I wanted a soap opera, dramatic ending to make him as sad as he made me. I wanted him to save me and beg for my forgiveness. Just like the romantic daydreams that dominated my life when I was a teenager. I found my mothers heart medication and took a lot. I walked out my front door and managed to pass out in his front yard. I woke up in the Psychiatric Ward in the county hospital. I was tied to the bed by large restraints. The staff was less than hospitable. The days were endless and the nights were unbearable. The nights were filled with sound (screams, cries, pleading, and mumblings) from the other patients. The romanticized idea of Bobby rushing to save me and loving me never happened. He hated me for trying to kill myself. He was embarrassed by my actions. He never visited me or even called my family. I was released after seven days. My mother had a large hospital bill she could not afford. I went home to try to relieve my mother's hurt and confusion. She had a real heart condition. I scared her so badly that she could have had a heart attack. She never made me feel bad. She was trying to console me. I realized that my life was not an isolated entity; that I could not selfishly throw away my life for any reason. I realized that my family and my friends all suffered for my bad judgment. Had I died they would have always wondered what I was thinking. They might have blamed themselves for my actions. I lived to have a wonderful life, full of adventure and stress. I lived to repay my mother for all the sacrifices that she made for me. I lived to have 2 sons and 2 grandchildren. I have a career I love and a life I am proud of. In that hour that I decided to die I could see no good days ahead. Now I know that there are always good days ahead. I have to make those days come true for myself. ~~~~~ *I was cautioned not to include this next essay in particular because it might scare some people away from the project. I hope not. This story includes a reference to oral sex. This will make some people (almost always the adults) squirm, but the reality is that this is something all but the most sheltered of teenagers is going to face, most likely at a younger age than you would guess. There is big value in framing the difficult subjects in a way that gets the reader thinking about them within the context of their own values and self-worth and boundaries before they find themselves in a high-pressure situation. I believe it's important to represent what might be controversial here, so that you can make a fully informed decision about participating. Thanks! That Loud Insecure Voice By Kristen Gentala I was fifteen or sixteen years old. My best friend had the house to herself all night and had invited a handful of people over for a party. Most of the boys were older, and there was plenty of alcohol and marijuana. I was definitely drunk, but not out-of-control drunk. The music was loud. The lights were low. Some people were socializing and some people were making out. I remember sitting on the couch near a guy whose name I didn't even know. We weren't getting to know each other. In fact, I don't think we spoke at all. We were just quietly watching the party unfold. After awhile he scooted closer and put his arm around my shoulders. Eventually he started kissing my neck, then my mouth, and then eased my face towards his pants, which he had already opened. I remember that although he and I weren't talking at all, the dialogue in my head was going strong. There was a very quiet voice saying, "What are you doing?" "Don't do this, don't do this, don't do this." "He didn't even ask your name." There was a much louder voice saying, "He likes you, he thinks you're pretty, isn't that great?" "Try to do it really well." "It's not a big deal, it's not a big deal, it's not a big deal." "He wants you, he chose you, isn't that great?" I sucked and swallowed. He buttoned up and fell asleep. The next morning he kissed me on the cheek and that was that. He never did ask my name. When I look back on my first blowjob, I don't have any bad feelings towards him or me. It was significant though because I had opened the door to sexual intimacy, and allowing myself to be guided through that potentially wonderful and potentially dangerous territory by that loud insecure voice didn't work out so well for me. Poorly chosen boyfriends who treated me terribly, attempted rape, "crabs" and teenage pregnancy would all follow, courtesy of that damned loud insecure voice. What amazes me when I remember this is that I made so many choices for so many years listening to that loud insecure voice. The quiet voice of my own inner wisdom was there, it has always been there, but most of my life I've felt too powerless and self-doubting to listen to what it had to say. I didn't really start listening to the voice of my inner wisdom until I was much older. Surprisingly, trusting that calm quiet voice was a terrifying thing to do. Living a life that is filled with pain and fear and self-doubt is awful, but there is some comfort in its familiarity. Paradoxically, stepping into the unknown can feel far more frightening than standing still in even the most agonizing comfort zone. Even now though, the voice inside my head that's really looking out for me still whispers discreetly and the insecure voice still shouts and echoes through my psyche. The difference is that now I know that I can tell the shouting voice to shut the hell up. ~~~~~ Please Note: The above samples are preliminary and subject to editing |