Surprisingly Normal-ish

      Has anyone ever struggled with their identity? The, "who am I" or "who am I going to be?" Sure, who hasn't, but has anyone struggled with the identity others have placed on them? Well, this just happens to be the story of my life. Now, hold on, before you let your eyes make a complete roll, let me set the record straight, this isn't a "poor little old me" post. It's a "watch-me-pat-myself-on-the-back-I-turned-out-surprisingly-OK-considering-all-the-hardship-my-childhood-withstood" post (OK, now you can finish rolling your eyes). I'll share my story with you and let you decide if I should be worse for wear.


      It was the happiest day of my mothers life. She found out that she was pregnant, again, with her fourth child (Enter, me). Her picture perfect family with two kids had blurred over the years into double vision. She must have been feeling twice as lucky. However, my brother, on the other hand, was ticked. Another sister?! Life was indeed cruel, but it wasn't unkind, for his brand new baby sister turned out to be simply adorable! Me being born, would not have been my mother's or brother's first choice. They probably would've rather eaten a ketchup popsicle while wearing white gloves (oh, the horror!), but they weren't given that option and instead were stuck with me, but boy did I win them over! I don't know how, but I'm sure I did. My sisters, well, they were just glad to have me to look up to them. Oh, we got along great, and we have scars to prove it.


      From around ages four to eight (and for many of my teenage years) I sported a very short bowl cut, confusing the elderly and school photographers alike as to the true identity of my gender. "I am not a boy", I would always add after my, "hello." That was the beginning of a trend in my life, adding an amendment to my perceived identity. "Hello, I didn't fail a grade, my parents just happened to put me into grade one, at the age of 8, because any sooner would've been considered child abuse", and "Hello, I'm not searching for my identity by dying my hair a different colour every month, it's just fun. And the chemicals in the dye help me telepathically communicate with Santa Claus", and "Hello, I'm not a snob, I'm just socially awkward from time to time", and "Hello, I'm not a lesbian just because I have short hair and won't date guys in my grade" (.....wait, I'm not?! It is a pretty convincing case, I admit, except for the part where I was extremely boy crazy), and "Hello, I'm not mentally challenged, God just happened to make me very special", and, finally, the one I shall never live down. It will be the bane of my existence, robbing me of my God given right to have my own identity, "Hello, I'm not who you think I am, no, I'm not Tania. She's my sister. No, we're not twins. Yes, we talk the same. Yes, you're right, I am the prettier one". 


      There you have it. These misconceptions may not be who I am, but they've shaped me into the person I am today, slightly insecure and neurotic, but mostly all right with people perceiving me differently than I do. From this point on (with much counseling), I'm sure I'll be able to coast into my golden years mostly unscathed, or at least I'll die trying! What's that? You never pegged me as the fighting to the death kind of gal? Well, I'm not here to try and change your mind, you'll have to think what you will! But you might just wanna watch your back.