Personal Narrative-Sponge-Dolls

My mother has always had a lot of rules. I could not watch SpongeBob, I could not play with Bratz Dolls, and I could not have my own phone until high school. However, my mother also has a clever daughter. Watch SpongeBob? At my grandmother's house. No Bratz dolls? Barbie dolls are fine substitutes. And my postponed usage of a cell phone? In 6th grade I became the neighborhood go-to babysitter and made enough cash to go to Verizon and pay for the phone myself. But there was one rule my mother had for me that I could not seem to get around. One day, when I was 12 years old, I came to school and my friend looked a little different. “It’s makeup, Nia,” she said. “I’m a woman.” So when I came home on that sunny school day, I was excited to have
my mom teach me her makeup skills and show me how to look pretty amazing. Still my mother imposed yet another rule on my life.
I could not wear makeup until I was 16 years old. “16 years old? That’s so far away!” I protested with my heart once again broken by another impeding ordinance. I was forced to go through middle school bitterly staring at my friends in the bathroom as they put on their glittery, enchanting lip gloss. Coming into high school, I would get questions about my bare face and have to explain that my mother did not allow me to wear makeup until I reached the glorious age of 16. Maybe I could have secretly worn it at school, but I walked to school with friends so from the moment I left the house, my naked face was exposed. Not to mention, I later learned that puberty is not a conspiracy theory, that is definitely real, and along with it came its infamous side effect: “pimples.” People saw my face, no makeup and all, and whenever I had acne or my annual sprout of eczema, those traits carried with me in every conversation. It was rough. I would wonder, where was the excitement that makeup could provide me with? Where was the glamor I wished for? Then finally the big day came. I already had a list full of cherished makeup products that I had been waiting to finally purchase on my 16th
birthday. My mother opened the door with a smile on her face, “Happy Birthday sweetie, here you go!” I awoke to a bag of mascaras, concealers, and eyeshadow galore. Yet when I opened the bag, I felt sunken. I could not bring myself to wear the makeup I had been dreaming about for years. The big day had finally arrived but I felt bleak. So, I went to school on my that day makeup free, like I always had, and I felt more confident than I had ever felt. Because when I walked around school I realized that makeup does not add any value to who I am. I have grown up not worrying how others felt about my looks because I realized that my appearance does not have to be my defining attribute, but rather the way I treat those are around me and the impact I make on the communities I will leave behind. My glitz and glamor has become my bright, outgoing personality towards others and that day I realized I have always been special, blemishes and all, because my mother shaped me to love myself for who I am and what I do. Of course, I know people might judge me for how I look, but at least I know that if they do, I want to be confident in who I am and how I present myself. One day, that might involve me wearing makeup, but for now, I feel confident presenting myself to the world as the natural me. Flaws and all.