There is a certain kind of loneliness that comes from feeling like you were made wrong. Not broken. Not bad. Just… different. Like everyone else in life somehow received a handbook on how to exist in the world, and you slept through the meeting where it was handed out. Pretending you don’t see the eyerolls when you start to turn away. The shoulders that press together excluding you from the circle. The “knowing” that no matter how much you try to blend in it’s obvious belonging wasn’t meant for you.
the ugly duckling
I’m always the one who laughs at the wrong time, who laughs too loud, too long. Thanks to my ADHD brain I’m always the one to say too much. The one who cares too quickly, too deeply. I’ve wasted years of my life rehearsing conversations in my head before walking into rooms where everyone else seemed to move effortlessly. I’m “the quirky one.” The dramatic one. The awkward one. The woman who is “a little much.” And yet never seemed to be enough. And after enough years of hearing and feeling those things directly or indirectly I began shrinking pieces of myself to survive. I become smaller. Quieter. Safer. I felt like belonging was something reserved for other people. Never for someone like me. Maybe this girl was never meant to be a swan.
Belonging through pageantry, really?
It’s one of the main reasons why pageantry surprised me.
Because from the outside, pageants look like a world designed for girls who already know exactly who they are. Girls with perfect smiles, perfect posture, perfect confidence, perfect answers. A world for polished girls. Popular girls. Beautiful girls who have never second-guessed whether they deserved to take up space. At least that’s what I thought before I walked into it. But what I found instead was something entirely different. I found women carrying invisible battles behind rhinestones and spray tans. Girls rebuilding confidence after heartbreak and trauma. Mamas who were rediscovering themselves after years of giving every ounce of energy to everyone else. Women who had been underestimated. Overlooked. Bullied. Abandoned and trampled upon. Women who knew what it meant to feel unseen. Neurosparkly queens whose brains worked just like mine!
And somehow, beneath all the glitter and gowns, there was this quiet understanding between us. Recognition. Like we were all speaking a language the outside world never fully understood. Because pageantry isn’t really about the crowns. It’s about becoming and believe it or not…belonging. It’s about the strange and beautiful courage required to let yourself be visible again after the world convinced you to disappear. And for a quirky girl like me, the girl who never quite fit in anywhere, that visibility can feel life changing.
take this crown and shove it
For the first time in my life, being “too much” became a strength. My passion wasn’t embarrassing. My emotion wasn’t weakness. My ability to care deeply wasn’t something to apologize for. The very traits that once made me feel isolated suddenly became the things connecting me to others. I don’t do pageants for the winning. I lose way more than I win. It’s not for the titles. Words on a sash aren’t anywhere near as meaningful as the people wearing those colors next to you. It’s not even the crowns. Although being a magpie I do love the sparkle!
It’s the people who finally make you realize that, just maybe, belonging is meant for you. It’s the women who cheer for you backstage while fixing your zipper with shaking hands of their own. It’s the late-night conversations in hotel courtyards where strangers become sisters. It’s the pageant moms carrying bobby pins, safety pins, tissues, snacks, and enough emotional support to hold together an entire dressing room full of nervous contestants. It’s realizing you are surrounded by people who understand the exhausting weight of trying to be brave in public. People who remind you that courage does not always look loud. Sometimes courage looks like showing up and glowing when you’ve been programmed to hide.
belonging should never be synonymous with changing
For a woman like me whose spent her entire life feeling different, finding a pageant family can feel almost holy. Humans are not meant to survive unseen. We are not meant to carry every insecurity alone. We are not meant to spend our lives apologizing for the very things that make us who we truly are. And sometimes healing does not happen in therapy or by reading self-help books. Sometimes healing happens backstage under fluorescent lights when another contestant tells you, “Go rock that stage Queen!”, when a little girl you’ve never met before gives you the biggest hug because your hair looks like hers, when a sweet sister queen with Autism steals away your heart forever. Sometimes healing happens when someone calls you inspirational for sharing your story and suddenly you see yourself through someone else’s eyes for the very first time.
Sometimes healing happens when you realize the things that once made you feel unlovable are the exact things that help others feel safe around you.
no more trying to change into a swan – loving the ugly duckling inside
I’ve finally realized belonging doesn’t mean changing. So much of that realization comes from getting to know my Sister Queen family Mississippi Women of Service. For the first time in my 50 years of life, I don’t second guess myself. I don’t rewrite a text 20 times until it sounds more normal, less quirky, and less like me. Because these women? Wow…do they see me. Like really, truly see me and not just that but they love me for ME. The overtop, and sometimes not from this planet, unfiltered, open-hearted, giving, caring, nurturing me. The ugly duckling who tried for so hard, for so long, only to realize in the end that being a swan is overrated.
I learned to love myself again many years ago through therapy but now? I’m beginning to understand that I was never too much. I was simply waiting for the right people to recognize my light. And that’s when you know you’ve finally found you’re people. They’re not the ones who you have to diminish yourself to fit in with. Not the people who make you smaller to fit the room. They’re the long awaited soul sisters who push the walls with all their might to make the room bigger to fit you while whispering:
“There you are! We’ve been waiting for you.”
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