Blurred Vision
As I knelt on the sharp pavement, with my hands glued to my face I put my tears on a leash in an attempt to pull them back up from rolling down my checks. Meanwhile, dribbles of sweat set up camp on my neck underneath my loose baby hairs that always fall out of my ponytail, as I clenched my fists until my knuckles turned white. My legs were as shaky as the ground when a big storm was brewing, but I knew I had to dig deep and find courage. I took my fist and drilled it right into my left cheekbone three times as hard as my body would allow. A hot sharp pain overcame my whole face, and I could feel the little hairs on my face perk up. I clenched my whole body, from my toes all the way to the tips of my fingers, trying to lessen the pain I was feeling. Once the throbbing stopped I let out an uncontrollable giggle, in disbelief that I just gave myself a black eye. It was the most pure laugh I have ever let out, completely alone, hysterically laughing in my driveway. It was a laugh that came from deep inside that seemed to shake the earth around me. It was at this moment, eye throbbing, dripping sweat, bright red knuckles, that I realized how pathetic I was being. I felt as if everything around me had a pair of eyes that were glaring their judgment at me: the trees, the grass, and even the hockey pucks laying around my yard stared at me in disbelief. I never thought I would be punching myself in the face, but I was sick of being told I didn’t look like a hockey player so I tried to actually look like one. I want to fit the mold of a true hockey player. I watch the hockey players on TV all the time with no front teeth, stitches on their faces, and most importantly, black eyes. I already have four missing teeth all on the top row of my mouth, which explains my lisp, but I wanted to really replicate a true hockey player, so for me the missing teeth wasn’t enough.
My brother always says to me that I will “never be a hockey player” and that I should play a “more girly sport” like soccer or softball, but I just stick my tongue out and make faces back at him to let him know I don’t care what he thinks. My eyes are always wide, my ears are always open, my mind is always racing, and my heart is always looking to be filled, and I need to jump hurdles to prove everyone wrong. The grin on his face stared into my soul and made me feel like a piece of gum on the sidewalk, that everyone steps on and makes small until it becomes a small black dot, stuck in the same spot forever. My parents always preached to me that I shouldn’t listen to what he says, but as parents it was their job to support me and they were the only ones that did. My brother, also known as the grinch, was the one person in my life who never failed to tear me down, mostly because he was always around, but also because that was his “job”. It was wrong, but he took being the older pushy brother role too seriously, and made it his everyday goal to follow me around and make me feel like I wasn’t good at anything I did. At the table doing homework, at school, at the rink, it didn’t matter, he was always wherever I was. Sometimes it made me wonder if he followed me around because he actually liked the company, but I would never say that to him, because maybe I secretly liked having him there too. Plus, most of the time your biggest supporters are really the ones who pretend you will never be good enough.
I consider myself to be a very wistful little girl, and from the outside looking in you may think that because I tried to purposefully give myself a black eye this would not be the case, but I promise you there's a reason. Since the age of 3 I have been a hockey player, and since then it has been my whole persona. My whole life people have always said “girls don’t play hockey” or “you don’t look like a hockey player”, and those words are the flint to my fire inside that make me who I am. I realize now, 12 years later, how pathetic I was to try to change my image by hurting myself, and it's safe to say I learned my lesson. Image and perspective are two terms that take a strong willed person to look past, because if you dwell on the little things there will never be bigger things that relieve you of hard work.
People have told me my whole life that I need to not take things so literally, and that I’m too soft, but those words live rent free in my head working as my brain fuel. Those words that are thrown my way, on a consistent basis, are what propel me to move forward with more steam. I sometimes picture myself as a train, the doubtful words are the fuel for the train, and the steam that billows out aggressively is represented by the judgments of others that I let disappear into the surrounding air. I tend to talk to myself a lot, and the voices in my head are what make my skin seem thicker and my mental toughness seem tougher. Although I am a very soft person on the inside, so I constantly have to remind myself grain of salt Molly, grain of salt. What I have learned about this habit though is that it is what makes me who I am, and I am proud of that. If you can hold yourself accountable, and define your strengths there is nothing that will stop you from doing what you love. The many voices in my head are what make me bear down in difficult situations and what make me seem unbothered by things, the voices are as important to me as bread is to a sandwich. All of the tears shed and biting of nails and clenching of fists makes it all worth it when you prove others wrong. My greatest achievements in life may not be as monumental to those around me, but as long as it is an accomplishment in my eyes I close my ears to anyone who thinks differently. I have learned so many things about myself and my grit over the years, and I have learned that my ears are like a sifter. I learned that if I can teach myself how to sift out all of the negativity in my life it will make me less likely to believe any little piece of doubt from others. Oftentimes it isn’t the world against you it is you against the world, because you won’t make it through life if you can’t be independent.
~Molly Jordan