What does it mean?

A daughter

A sister

A mid-fielder

A 3-point shooter

Not good enough.

An Office Manager

A pageant queen

An honors student

Still not good enough.

A club president

A team captain

A philanthropist

Never good enough.

Too slow.

Too weak.

Too short. Too tall.

Chin high.

Chest up.

Not pretty.

Not funny.

Not smart.

Not good enough.

Not worthy of love.

---

Years of conditioning had convinced me of it.

Middle schoolers love to remind me of how pretty my contracted model sister is, which, in a young mind, translates to you’re not pretty enough.

Coaches refuse to stop berating me for my inefficiently slow footwork you’re not quick enough.

College basketball had always been my dream, but being the shortest of my family and friends, I knew you are not tall enough.

My mother brought my sister and I to a modeling agency in elementary school. She was called back, but I wasn’t you’re not skinny enough.

Every Sunday at family dinner, surrounded by my family's big personalities, my voice was drowned out by aunts' and uncles' laughter what you have to say is not important enough.

No matter what I did, no matter how many points I scored, how many pageant Titles I won, how many A’s I received… none of it ever

was

enough.

At that point, why even keep trying? Why bother waking up early before school to run a quick mile or two while dribbling a basketball? Why bother doing ladder drills in my room at 10 p.m. when I should be sleeping? Why bother studying for that exam or planning the next Honor Society fundraiser? If it’s never enough, why even do it at all?

So I stopped.

I stopped trying

Studying

Working

Practicing

Socializing

Speaking

Eating.

Hell, my heart even tried to stop, too.

But something inside me knew. Something inside me kept me alive. A fire? A passion? A subconscious knowledge that my purpose in this world wasn’t yet fulfilled? Perhaps all of the above, but I know for sure one thought inside me, a word neglecting my previous conditioning, is what saved me.

I am good enough.

I am worthy enough.

A constant reminder now sits on my hip. My sister's handwriting reminds me someone else will always believe I am worthy too. And to me, a writer, words are something you cannot monetize, they are priceless. (Which is ironic, considering the word cost me $85) One word encapsulates my entire experience; the ups and downs of adolescence; the rock bottoms hit in high school, and the relief when I finally realized: the reason I am still alive. I finally believed that I am worthy.

So now the belief is as permanent in my head as the black ink on my hip. So what does my tattoo mean? It means that the little girl was always pretty enough, she was always smart enough, she was always tall enough, funny enough, and good enough. It just took her a little time to realize she is

worthy enough.