Tough Cookie.

To My Hero,

Now, this was harder than I expected it to be. Hero is such a big word that holds so much responsibility, should this be rewarded to my parents? Or maybe my Grandma? Brother? Best friend? The woman I met who saves the elephants? They all in their own right deserve this title.

But then I remember 8-year-old me, tied to a fence by the ribbons of her dress and left there until her mum was called to come and rescue her. Believe it or not her best friends at the time were the ones who left her there.

I grew up as the chubby ginger kid, and the only friends I knew up until the age of 15 weren’t exactly the kindest of folk. This same group of friends would invite me out and then leave before I arrived, they stood by as some boy threw stones at me and told me I was too fat to be allowed in the park we were all playing at. I left, they didn’t.

I have countless memories of being ran away from and abandoned, blamed for things I didn’t do, called names, embarrassed or just outright told I wasn’t wanted there. But this was normal for me, I didn’t know what the alternative was, so I stuck around.

Then on top of that I had the people I didn’t consider friends calling me any and every name you could imagine related to being ginger. And I couldn’t win. One year I dyed my hair dark brown, much to the disapproval of my hair dresser, and when I got in to school I was accosted for being ashamed of my red hair. The very people who spent years of my life telling me I should be ashamed of it now bullying me for doing the very thing they told me I should do.

Adults would look at me and tell me “these are the best days of your life, you’ll miss it when you’re gone” and I would think ‘they better bloody not be.’

This, although I rarely think about it now, still has impacted my adult life and the way I perceive myself in many ways, even sub-consciously. I developed depression in my early teens and have deep-rooted issues with believing people care about me, I’ve been single my entire life due to not understanding the notion that I could be important to another person. My social anxiety can become crippling and I struggle to talk about my feelings with anyone; instead choosing to shut down for days at a time.

But, I’m kind. I’m a good listener and I’m thoughtful, I’ll always try to help and if I can’t, I’ll just be there, just so you know you’re not alone. I’m empathetic, and loyal, I have time for people, and animals; especially animals. I understand how people should be treated, and what is the right and wrong way to talk to a person. I know logically that people do care about me and that I am important to people, but sometimes the logic isn’t enough.

I spent a couple years working in America, red hair isn’t very common on Staten Island where I was living and working, so jokes were made. The same ones I’d heard my whole life, only this time they didn’t sting, I didn’t cringe away or wish to be anyone else. I laughed along and cracked some jokes myself. One of the guys after a couple months looked at me “you’re a tough cookie,” “I grew up ginger.” I replied.

People I work with have asked me if they can share my social media with their young family members who are getting bullied for their red hair, to show them that life gets better after school.

Nowadays, I get complimented on my hair almost daily. “You know people pay big money for hair like that.”

I have been approached more than once by strangers, one in my old college’s computer lounge and again by a French photographer whilst I was wandering some gardens in Marrakesh and asked to model for various projects. The latter I still regret awkwardly turning down.

So…

Dear Little Me,

Yes, life does get better. You will meet a girl, and she will show you what it means to be a friend, and you’ll never look back.

Your confidence will come back and you’ll go to Thailand to volunteer with injured elephants and play with disabled dogs, you’ll become a lifeguard and teach children to swim, you’ll drive the entirety of route 66 by yourself. You’ll do things you didn’t even know you wanted to, and you’ll meet friends who never make you question yourself again.

Thank you for not losing yourself and becoming cruel, like I know you often felt like doing. Your strength is unmatched, and for that reason, you’re my hero.

Oh, and the boy who threw stones at you and called you fat? He tries to take your now best friend home after a night out and she curses him out and tells him he is disgusting. You could never have dreamed of having someone care that much about you, but they do.

Just hang in there.

Lots of love,

Big You.