I don’t want to be pretty.

This growing up thing. Its so messy and scary and its constantly tapping me on the shoulder and reminding me that every time I think Ive learnt a bucket full in the distance there’s a well FULL of memories and experiences, trials and celebrations.

After last weeks post I had so many responses and the occasional reassurance.

“Don’t worry, you’re pretty”

Pretty. I smiled.

Along the way I became a slave to 2 syllables. 5 letters.
I’d heard it before. A word tossed from girl to girl, rarely meant. Pretty is a crippled, distorted word in a world that matches it against thigh gap existence and pearly white smiles. The world had drained out all the metrics of measuring women and replaced it with Pore size and calorie counts.

I’m not going to tell you that you’re a cute dainty little flower when in fact you were created with so much zeal and fight inside of you. Who am I to not tell you that you are some kind of fearless crazy warrior?

I’m not going to tell you that you match the world’s idea of ‘perfect’ but I will tell you that this world is much, much shallower than your sweet identity.

“Pretty” won’t cut it.

You see, my Mama. A rock. She is stronger than I know how to be. I took every opportunity to listen and follow her with an upside down umbrella to catch all of the words of wisdom she would ooze with. My mama never taught me to be cute and dainty and ‘pretty’. She taught me that I could do and be whatever the hell I pleased. She taught me that I could be rude in the wake of injustices. She erased all of the worlds ‘pretty’ lines and boundaries.

My mama had promised me the stars and I’m tired of settling for the crumbs.

an attractive thing, especially a trinket.


Ladies, “pretty” is merely an overly diluted word. But hear this there are people in your life. People who care. People who also want to be warriors. With big fat ugly loud footsteps. And the audacity to make a ruckus. And the courage to not tow the stupid lines. And a heart that makes people wonder, what will she do next?

But maybe like me its taken you or is taking you years & lots of teeny, tiny lifetimes to see that you are not pretty and that actually gives you joy. So much joy.

Jenna Jay.

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