Dear... The Girls On The Bus
I see you. Trying to take up as little space as possible.
Three of you could fit onto one seat, and yet you behave as though every movement might throw the universe out of balance. Being yourself might inconvenience someone else.
You are even afraid of the spaces you look into, avoiding eye contact, as if your insignificant gaze might take up too much room.
Delicate, fragile, thin, small. It’s how you appear, because it’s how women are supposed to look. Or so you think.
You weren’t always like this. You used to bound around your living rooms and jump on the sofas. You would wrestle with your dog and eat dinner loudly, with your legs crossed.
Today you curl up and stare at your phones. Aching to be the people you see. It’s as if someone told you that if you stare at them for long enough and close enough, you will become them. You will fall inside your phone, like some kind of Alice in Instagram-land.
It’s not your fault. It really isn’t. But I wish somebody would tell you now, not later, that you are good enough. Without your grades, without your long hair, without the best bag, without your badges and awards, without your eyelashes and acne masked in gloop. You are enough as you are and worthy of love and attention. You are worthy of peace in your tired, busy minds.
Don’t be embarrassed to take up space, metaphorically or literally. You are not frail, but you are fragile. You are not brittle but feeling broken. You are capable. You are not more important than anyone else, but you can do important things.