Part 1 of 3

This inter­nal dia­lo­gue haunts me, daily.

I was a pretty girl.  A pretty blond girl. Blond jokes were a cons­tant from the time I began middle school.  I use to pre­tend they didn’t bother me.  I use to pre­tend to be the girl that others wan­ted me to be.

I use to pre­tend to be dumb.

When I was fif­teen, I remem­ber a cute boy pat­ting me on the head after I said something he though was foo­lish.   “It’s OK Nanette, you’re blond.”

This com­ment, a com­ment that had been said to me hun­dreds of times, hit a chord.

That was the last time I took blond crap from anyone.

That was the day I stop­ped pre­ten­ding to be dumb.

Funny thing hap­pe­ned, I began pre­ten­ding to be smart.

I never for­got the words peo­ple said about me, though.

And at thirty two, I still believe that I am dumb.  I pre­tend I don’t, but I do.

My logi­cal left brain says, “That’s stu­pid.  You are very smart.  You are an inc­re­di­ble teacher, great mom, and a good part­ner.  You are not dumb.”

But then someone pats my head or gives me a look of pity after I spell something inco­rrectly, or say something that wasn’t so smart…and I feel, well, dumb.

My inter­nal dia­lo­gue, “Nanette, you are not smart enough, lucky yes.  Smart, no.”