Here’s the thing about pageants that makes them not probably, but definitely, the most soul-touching thing I have ever done in my entire life.
When we step onto that stage, do we want to win? Of course we do.
When you look at the money we invest in coaching, gowns, interview outfits, practice, travel, hotel rooms, meals, entry fees, and yes… even the endless rhinestones… you wouldn’t do it if there wasn’t at least a tiny voice inside you whispering, “I can do this. I belong here. That crown could be mine.”
I think that hope is essential. That little what if I win? is what gets most of us to enter our first pageant.
But it’s not why we stay.
It’s not why we drive four hours across the state to compete at a small local pageant hosted by the sweetest director you’ll ever meet.
It’s not why we keep showing up after losing six pageants in a row.
It’s not why we keep walking onto a stage even when the reflection staring back at us doesn’t look anything like “pageant perfection.”
So… what’s the why?
It’s the spontaneous hugs from little girls you never would’ve met without pageants.
It’s the “Mrs.” bonding weekend trips hiding together under beds from tornados. Whether you fit or not!
It’s the grandmother of one of the most precious darlings you’ve ever met who asks for your advice as though it truly matters, then cheers for you like you’ve been family all along.
It’s the mama who trusts you enough to watch her baby so she can take a much-needed, well-deserved three-minute breather.
It’s the directors who make you, and even more importantly, your daughter with special needs, feel like you are the most important people in the room.
It’s the coaches, like mine, who don’t simply teach you how to walk a stage or answer an interview question. They give you the tools to believe in yourself more than you ever thought possible. Their voice becomes the one in your head when you’re ready to quit, reminding you that you are worthy.
And it’s standing on stage surrounded by women with tears in their eyes because even though your name wasn’t called, the woman wearing that crown couldn’t be more perfect for the year ahead. Somehow, her victory feels like all of ours.
Yes, that tiny little voice asking, “What if I win?” may be why we begin.
But it isn’t why pageantry becomes home.
It becomes home because of the little girl no one ever understood.
The child no one picked to play with.
The woman who spent years wondering where she belonged.
Pageantry becomes home because of the unconditional acceptance and love you find within the community.
Last month, I found that home with International and American Women of Service.
I found women who embraced every, single one of my quirks,.
I found directors who loved me through all of my oddities.
I found a community that didn’t just welcome me—it celebrated me. A community that cheered just as loudly when the title became mine as if it had always believed it would.
It’s been a long road.
A fifty-year journey, really.
But at long last…
I have found my home.
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