If Cinderella was Persian, instead of a fairy god mother, she’d just need a good esthetician to do her eyebrows and she’d be set!
I became my Cinderella (Cinde-Leyla?) at 15.
It felt like a rebirth – a phoenix rising up through the ashes. A warrior finally putting on her perfectly fitted armour. It was my time to SLAY!
As a recently emigrated preteen struggling living in the Western culture in the early 2000’s, the idea of doing my eyebrows was as crucial and life-changing to me as it was for Cinderella to attend the Royal Ball. It felt like everyone else got a free pass or an invitation to naturally look beautiful, while I had to work really hard for it.
It was a conversation I had to have with my conservative parents constantly, from the moment I turned 13.
Back then I felt as grown-up as I feel right now – “13 feeling like 30?” No? OK. We’ll stick with The Married Girl on Bumble.
“But I’m grown now! I’m a teenager”
-“HAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAH. No.”
Don’t try this shit with your middle eastern parents… The concept of being a “teenager” or “old enough” means nothing to them. You gotta be more innovative than that. Even in your 30’s.
“I’m being bullied in school”
That actually worked!
Let’s unpack this a little shall we?
Telling my parents I was being bullied in school for looking different, worked! I don’t think being bullied has damaged me much… I mean my tweezers are conveniently placed on my bed-side table – within an arms reach. And they were essentially the only thing I cared about packing when I left my old life behind to move back home with my parents – along with my phone charger because #millenial.
Sometimes I think about writing a will that says “I need someone to make sure my eyebrows look flawless in case I ever go into a coma or something”. I know, I’m beginning to sound like a Kardashian… Ok maybe I’m a little fucked up but who isn’t these days? Stick and stones may break my bones but your words will create an unhealthy- OCD like habit in me for the rest of my life!!
Okay. Enough unpacking. *Shoves insecurities to the back of her mind the way she crams her laundry into her closet after they’ve been sitting on her bed for the past 3 days*
When I finally turned 15, I saw my fairy god mother and suddenly I was beautiful. Okay, it didn’t quite happen with so much ease. In reality, it took about 40 long minutes, and I flinched at every single needle-like pain going through my face. It felt as if someone was picking at a freshly dry wound right above my eyes. I’d take slow deep breaths and hold them in, hoping it would help with the excruciating pain.
There was a mutual agreement between all parties involved- it shouldn’t look “too thin” – she’s still very young.
When I came out on the other side I was a different person – a warrior coming back from winning a battle: battle of the sexes, battle of generational gaps and of cultural differences. My confidence level went through the roof (but just imagine the roof of a basement in a small bungalow because I was still a teenager with angst, an attitude, and a healthy dose of body image issues).
I finally felt beautiful, but most importantly I felt validated. That thirst for validation has stayed with me for the last 15 years (along with the body image issues – but we’ll open that can of worms another time). So for 15 years, I moved from relationship to relationship wanting to feel needed, to become someone’s entire world, someone’s fantasy; and I lost myself in the process. It took an ugly separation, a year of frantically searching to get back into my old lifestyle and a little show called ‘Sex and The City’ to bring back some sense and peace into my life.
I’ve been on this “dating cleanse” for just over a week. For one thing, watching ‘Sex And The City’ in my pajamas has been an incredible substitute for stressful, high pressure dates that end up feeling more like job interviews. I’ve been on numerous first-dates in the past year and sometimes I think I’ve told my story so many times that I get tired of hearing it myself. I’ve opened up to so many people in the last year that each part of this city could accurately and easily recite my story – crossing every “t” and dotting every “i”.
This break has felt wonderfully freeing: I’ve never felt so content and at peace as I do now. I’m learning to slowly rely on my own and I’m putting my sneakers on and running after my dreams. The glass slippers can wait for a while…
The Married Girl On Bumble 