I just want to be pretty inside and out.

"No one ever told me I was pretty when I was a little girl. All little girls should be told they're pretty, even if they aren't." - Marilyn Monroe.

As a child I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. I'm sure all children have this same thought about their mothers. Even when my mother was at her worst in her addiction I thought she was beautiful. I'm sure to an outsider my mother was not ugly but could have been prettier. My mother had her own style which was never in style. She wore her hair in the same feathered mullet fashion from the '80's for most of my childhood. She wore tank tops and sleeveless shirts to show off her tattoos. She favored black eyeliner and Aquanet. Her favorite jacket was leather with fringe all over it. Looking back I guess you could say my mother was a fashion victim but as a child I thought she was gorgeous and I knew I could never be as beautiful as she was. And she made sure that I knew I wasn't beautiful or even pretty. In fact according to my mother I was ugly.

I have no memory of my mother complimenting me on anything. She often made fun of my blonde hair and blue eyes saying I belonged more with Barbie and Ken than with her. I was always told that no one would want some one as ugly as myself. I never understood why she would say these things. It wasn't like I was calling her ugly or anything like that. I longed to be pretty like her. I hated my blonde hair and wished it was the beautiful red that her's was. Even my blue eyes bothered me. My mother has blue eyes as well but says I got mine from my father. There was nothing redeemable about me in my mother's eyes. Because of all the comments about my looks from her I believed it.

I did get compliments from her friends. My mother mostly hung out with men who had a history of drug/alcohol abuse and had been in and out for prison. Most of these men were very racist. Whenever they were over we were not allowed to watch a tv show that had anyone who was not white. These same men praised my blonde hair and blue eyes, calling me the perfect Aryan daughter. Telling me if I ever dated a man that was not white both of us would be killed. My mother tended to agree with them. It was about the only time I remember my mother being happy about the way I looked. I still didn't find solace in this. As a child of a meth addict I felt I already had a sign above my head that told the world what was going on at home. Add to the fact that these men and my mother were using my hair and eye color to make them feel good about their race made it worse. It didn't help that one of her many boyfriends loved calling me beautiful. He used to say I was his California girl. I hated this man. His comments made me uncomfortable. It was only a matter of time before his comments went from innocent to sinister. He was always trying to get me to sit on his lap and told me that wearing pajama pants to bed would hurt my female parts. Needless to say I was molested my this man. After being molested I truly started to feel ugly. I hated the way I looked and felt that it was because of my looks that I was molested. If I didn't have this blonde hair maybe he wouldn't have found me appealing. If I wasn't so slim or if I wasn't so weak this wouldn't have happened.

Even after being removed from my mother's care I struggled with they way I looked. While I was no longer being told I was ugly I was still feeling the effects of those words. I was 12 years old when my mother sent us away. I was about to enter middle school and I was terrified. Having had to grow up at an early age and what not I already longed for a boyfriend. But whenever I saw a cute boy at school my mother's voice rang through my head. And it got worse as the years went on. I got glasses and braces in 7th grade which pretty much sealed my boyfriendless fate. I knew I didn't want to be one of the "popular" girls so I dressed as uniquely as possible. I was loud and rude. I figured if people thought I was ugly I might as well act the part. I did have a few boys in middle school ask me out but I was just as shallow as all the other kids in my school and said no because they didn't look right.

As I entered high school things got a bit better. My freshman year I got my first boyfriend. He was a junior and liked me. Looking back I can see what attracted me to him: he told me I was beautiful. Oh the joy of hearing those words from a boy!!! I was on top of the world. Well at least until my adopted parents found out and promptly disapproved of him. This of course added fuel to my fire. I did everything I could to keep this boyfriend. As an adult I often look back at that relationship and laugh. I can't believe I spent so much time on someone who I didn't really even want to be with and that treated me like a toy. When he broke up with me for not having sex(of course that is not the excuse he gave me) I started thinking again that my mother was right.

Over the years I have had numerous boyfriends. I have put myself in situations where I am dating more than one guy because it made me feel good to be desired by men. For me it was validation that I was pretty and wanted. Of course I never believed them when they would say I was beautiful. I remember one boyfriend would get so mad when I would roll my eyes after he said he thought I was beautiful.

It took a long time but I finally am at a place where I know that my looks don't define who I am. I have an amazing husband who thinks I am beautiful even when I was hugging the toilet during morning sickness. My husband tells me every day that I am beautiful. And while I may not be Hollywood beautiful I am finally ok with that. I tell my daughter everyday that she is beautiful. She has no idea what it means yet but I don't want her to doubt herself the way I did. I want her to grow up being proud of who she is on the inside and outside. I think that's what every little girl needs, just to be told she is beautiful inside and out.

Taya