On Being Kelly

Today, I walked into a popular beauty supply store, clutching my gift card as if I was ready to defend myself against an eager salesperson with facial contouring that looked like she had 2 light sabers growing out of her cheekbones, and nearly had a panic attack on the shiny, fluorescent lit floors. I reluctantly asked for help picking out the least expensive bronzer possible (mainly because I don't know what half that shit is in there), then, even more reluctantly looked at my washed out face in the mirror and said, "SOLD!"

I whisked myself to the car, holding the tell-tale signs of my confused purchase at the beauty store, and got in, feeling hot, short of breath and on the verge of tears. Full disclosure, yes, I am nearing the end of my period, so there is the slightest chance that hormones contribute to the bizarre feelings, but these are feelings and sensations that are rare, even to my menstruating self. I drove home wondering what just happened under those bright lights, questioning my discomfort with the whole process, and just wishing it was baseball season and I was sitting in the stands at Dodger Stadium drinking a very large beer and basking in the colorful language and outfits of my people in the outfield bleachers.

And that sentence above pretty much sums up my thoughts on being a girl and woman as far back as I can remember.

I am a straight woman. I've never desired to be a boy. But, I also never dreamt about being a mom, what my wedding would look like or painting my nails. I've always felt a little ambiguous, or stuck in between two commonly held cultural norms of what's masculine, feminine and beautiful.

Since pre-school, my best friends were boys. I always identified with the things boys were typically into like sports and music. I had a very hard time fitting in with most girls, and, admittedly so, judged them for being overly concerned with things that seemed petty to me; like doing their hair and putting on makeup. I was naive, the last to shave my legs, wear a bra and my mom nearly begged me to try wearing makeup in middle school. When I was about 19, I remember a friend being shocked that I'd never shaped my eyebrows; and she was right to be concerned because it was starting to look like Gene Shalit's mustache was migrating north above my eyes. And my upper lip was a whole other issue. 

The thing was, I wanted to be seen as beautiful. Still do. I wanted the boys to like me. I wanted to be doted upon and treated with the utmost chivalry. But, not at the expense of who I felt I was; and that's the rub. I was different - a stubborn, shy, creative, sort-of-tomboy that lived in the friend zone most of the time. I fiercely guarded my authenticity, even if it meant that I wasn't popular or living up to society's beauty norms.

Now, I'm 35. I've been told more than a few times that my style can resemble Ellen (which I gratefully accept because she's awesome and I LOVE her style). My mom still encourages me to play myself up more, and I still love baseball, probably more now than ever. I've traded in the posters of hot surfers for minimalist art and a wall honoring musicians we respect. I no longer hang out with the guys listening to music, but I do find myself drawn to the mens' conversations at dinner parties. I still have stubby, uneven nails, boobs the same size as my 8th grade self, and usually put off getting a haircut for far too long. I have taken care of that facial hair thing, though. Still, I sit back sometimes, like today in that store, and wonder, what am I? Masculine or feminine? Am I still beautiful, without all the "feminine" things?

Gender issues seem to be the "IT" topic lately. We've got unisex bathrooms, Transparent (great show, by the way), Caitlyn Jenner and a whole lotta talk about sexuality in the midst of it. I never thought that I would throw myself into the mix of gender conversations, but as I've aged, I realize that I've struggled deeply with the fact that I don't fit into the typical gender mold, or roles, set forth by media, the church, or society. Sometimes I like to dress like a boy, but I'm not gay. Sometimes I like to wear a dress and look pretty, but I don't like shopping, and I clearly have a questionable fear of beauty stores. I don't use the women's average number of daily words and I'm not very dramatic, but I have succumb to the evil siren's call of The Bachelor/Bachelorette. I want to be nurtured, comforted and feel connected with those close to me, but sometimes, I like more quiet than the average woman. I feel like a gender anomaly. 

All of this chatter, both internal and external, has lead to a lot of shame, feeling as if I won't ever really be accepted, or identified in a special place, or that I won't be a good enough mom or wife, or that I'll simply have to resign myself to being more of a loner. Sounds like I just walked into a fabulous pity party, of One. Yep. That's exactly what it's been. A long ass gender pity party in which I let all the noise dictate my worth as a woman. 

A couple weeks ago, I was blessed enough to attend a women's retreat lead by two fabulous women. I hedged on signing up for a long time, mostly because I wasn't sure how I felt about being in the presence of a bunch of women for a whole weekend. Would I fit in? Would I seem female enough? Will I be weird for having only one kid? Will they be catty? Blah, blah, blah. Judge, frown, shame, repeat. So, knowing that this whole gender identity has been an issue, I went against my judgy self and became one of those women that goes to well-attended retreats to talk about how she's lost herself in motherhood and then makes some craft about it. And, it was exactly that. EXCEPT, I actually got a lot out of it. Over, and over, and over again, my writing and my shares seemed to circle back around to this same issue of femininity. I was vulnerable, and shared with a bunch of lovely, beautiful women, that I didn't always feel the way I thought women were supposed to. Funny enough, some of them felt the same way. I got to hear well-respected women, mothers, teachers, church goers say 'shit' and 'fuck' and told me that I was one badass bitch. HALLELUJAH. Damn right, I'm a badass, and they were, too, and each of us was uniquely ourselves. 

I'm beginning to see that the only person with pink or blue colored glasses on is me. Sure, there's a lot of cultural banter and assumptions that are sometimes hard to block out. But, ultimately, I am responsible for me, for what I like and don't, for how I dress, what I do, and how I judge others and myself. While I am undeniably female, and very proud to have a vagina and reap all the wondrous benefits of being a woman, I am equally proud that, somedays, I feel a little bit more like a dude. I am capable of containing both of these things, of transcending what is "feminine" or "masculine", to be beautifully, Kelly. 

When all else fails, I like to return to the wise words of the great female orator of our time, Tina Fey:

But I think the first real change in women's body image came when JLo turned it butt-style. That was the first time that having a large-scale situation in the back was part of mainstream American beauty. Girls wanted butts now. Men were free to admit that they had always enjoyed them. And then, what felt like moments later, boom - Beyonce brought the leg meat. A back porch and thick muscular legs were now widely admired. And from that day forward, women embraced their diversity and realized that all shapes and sizes are beautiful. Ah ha ha. No. I'm totally messing with you. All Beyonce and JLo have done is add to the laundry list of attributes women must have to qualify as beautiful. Now every girl is expected to have:

• Caucasian blue eyes • full Spanish lips • a classic button nose

• hairless Asian skin with a California tan • a Jamaican dance hall ass

• long Swedish legs • small Japanese feet • the abs of a lesbian gym owner

• the hips of a nine-year-old boy • the arms of Michelle Obama • and doll tits

The person closest to actually achieving this look is Kim Kardashian, who, as we know, was made by Russian scientists to sabotage our athletes. Everyone else is struggling.

Ladies, it ain't always easy, no matter what you're into. We carry some heavy burdens and expectations. If, like me, you've ever felt unsure of your identity or where you fit in, I have two pieces advice: You are worthy, and you are one badass bitch.