Dava Krause is an Identity Staff Writer, but a comedian first. She has dedicated her time to provide Identity readers with some laughter in their lives. We don’t always have to be serious, so unwind with a laugh from time to time with Dava and Identity.
By Dava Krause
First of all, I hated myself. I was one of those early bloomers who had gotten my period early and looked vaguely like an adult. Most of my friends, still tiny little 80 pounders, could wear tank tops without a bra. Oh, the jealousy! My best friend was a blond, blue-eyed, tall and slender little nymph and all I could do to keep from tearing my hair out from envy was to hover in the corner, crack sarcastic jokes, and sneer as she blissfully skipped around wearing shorts without thinking for one second if her knee hair seemed excessive. I hated myself and my parents for giving me my genes. (And my jeans — my mom made me shop at Fashion Bug – the horror!)
My life also sucked because I felt like I knew everything there was to know in the world and could navigate myself through life, but I was stuck living under my parents’ roof and forced to obey their stupid irrational rules. Man, did life blow. It would be years before I was on my own, out from under my parents’ staunch oppression. It would be years until I could run away to a place where none of the boys my age knew I threw up on the bus coming back from a school trip. It would be years until I could dye my hair blond, get blue contacts, and get rid of my wack oddball name for something cool. Like Stacy. Ugh!
(SFX: foot stop and door slam)
There is an amazing project going on right now called: It Gets Better. It’s an Internet-based project founded in response to the suicides of teenagers who were bullied because they were gay or because their peers suspected that they were gay. Its goal is to prevent suicide among LGBT youth by having gay adults convey the message that these teens’ lives will improve. It’s truly inspiring. And it made me think.
I wish I could fly back in time in a DeLorean to tell 12-year-old me that it gets better. I wish Future Me could have whispered in my ear while I was crying myself to sleep that the exact friends whom I wished I could be like were secretly wishing they were petite, curvy and brunette like me. That I would grow up to be an adult who somehow has learned to love myself and celebrate (read: accept) my uniqueness. That I would grow up and move out and be an adult who makes choices to create a life that’s right for me. Because I have.
I live in California with two cats, a dog and my husband and I am pursuing my dreams.
I may spend some moments (even days) wondering what I don’t have and what I haven’t achieved. But at this moment, I’m pausing to appreciate how far I’ve come from that insecure, hairy seventh grader. And I’ve come pretty damn far, baby.