The Wonder Woman Within

If people could see who we are on the inside, what a difference it would make!

     What would happen if our outward appearance mirrored the way we feel on the inside?

     For instance, when I was a little girl, I had grandiose ideas of how I would look when I grew up. I would have long, shapely legs, a toned, flat belly, big perky breasts, and a flawless smile. In other words, I would look like Wonder Woman or Daisy Duke or one of the beautiful Coppertone models. That was how I felt on the inside, so that was how I'd be. I had no idea, back then, that genetics played a large factor in how I would turn out.

     Do any of my relatives look like Wonder Woman? Um...no. My mother is very beautiful, but her body measurements are pretty run-of-the-mill, right along with the other women in my family tree. Average. No big b***s, no voluptuous curves, no naturally straight teeth. That's the kind of fruit our tree produces. But I was too naïve to realize that, when I was a young girl.

     Puberty, for me, was a massive disappointment. I waited impatiently to blossom into a gorgeous bombshell, but that never happened. By the time I turned seventeen (and could still pass for a thirteen year old), I was irate. God was a big ol' meanie, holding back on me, ruining my hopes and dreams! On the outside, I was a nerdy, awkward, gangly nobody. On the inside, I was strong, sexy, unstoppable Wonder Woman. Why couldn't I look on the outside the way I felt on the inside? It wasn't fair!

     What would have happened if I'd actually turned out like Wonder Woman? How would it have changed me? Would my self-esteem have been higher so that I would have made better choices? Maybe I wouldn't have settled for loser guys, wouldn't have been a “cutter,” wouldn't have sought acceptance through sex and alcohol and drugs. Maybe I would have liked myself.

     But I didn't.

     The one place " the only place " where I truly liked myself was in my imagination. When I was writing stories, pretending, drawing sketches of beautiful women I admired " those were the moments when I was happy. Reality only reminded me that I was flawed and ugly. I hated that I had no control over my height, my breast size, my skinny legs, and crooked nose and teeth.

     Oh, don't get me wrong. I wasn't a bitter, introverted emo girl who wore black gowns and looked like a vampire. No. On the contrary. I became a wild child. I decided to get back at God for jipping me of what I deserved by dressing and acting the way I felt on the inside " I was a curvy, sexy Daisy Duke. My skirts were really short, my jeans were really tight, and my morals were really low. I transformed myself from an awkward bookworm to a determined party girl, hellbent on making the guys notice me. And they did.

     Sometimes I wonder if God wasn't trying to protect me by making me “average.” What might have happened to me in my rebellious youth if I'd looked like Daisy Duke? What if I hadn't been a slow bloomer? What kind of adolescence would I have had? What kind of guys would have noticed me? Would my life had been any easier? Somehow, I doubt it.

     There are times when I am still resentful about the way God put me together. I wish Mom had married a man who'd had Scandinavian genes. That way, I could have inherited blonde hair and blue eyes and nice curves. Oh, just think how easy it would be to get the attention of anyone anywhere, if I looked like that! Being beautiful has its advantages. Beauty takes you places. You end up in Hollywood, on the big screen, in music videos, on the glossy pages of magazines. People want to be you.

     Nobody wants to be me.

     The mirror is not my friend. It shows me all the physical parts of myself that I don't like. It frowns back at me as I critique my body, sighing and groaning, while I curse my genetic make-up. Why can't the mirror show me what's on the inside? If only it could show me all the positive attributes I carry around within my less-than-ideal outer shell. If my creativity, compassion, kindness, generosity, intelligence, and strong spirit were visible to people, how lovely I would be! Wonder Woman, inside and out.

     I think some people can see those things. Some people have eyes that see past the outward appearance to the beauty that lies within. Those people see the real me. They see the Wonder Woman inside me. Those people see past the limitations and imperfections of the physical world, into the infinite, the ageless, the spotless one.

What fun it is to find a person who shares the same imaginative scope! To find a person who will take your hand and go skipping down the path beside you, just two souls united by a common link " heart vision. Heart vision is the ability to see beyond the skin, beyond what can only be seen with the human eye. Once that limitation is stripped away, anything is possible. The imagination is unleashed, the heart becomes the lens through which we look, and life becomes breath-taking.

     If more people could see with heart vision, past the average outward appearance to what kind of people live within, life would be so exciting! Think of all the superheros, the prince and princesses, the daredevils, the divas who would be unleashed! No longer restricted to costumes, to movies or comic books or the imagination, these amazing souls would have the freedom to become actual flesh and blood human beings. My Wonder Woman within would be given visibility at last!

     Ahh, there I go again " daydreaming, slipping into make-believe. Pretending makes me happy. When I'm communing with my imagination, I envision myself as I want to be. I forget the limitations to which I've been confined, and release all the potential bubbling up inside of me. I let it flow out of my soul, into my fingers, and onto the pages that I write. And here, within the sentences I type, all that is hidden inside of me can be clearly seen. Running freely among these pages, the person that I really am is revealed.