Prepping for Prince Charming
An Essay on connecting happiness to the fantastical narratives of true love's kiss
As a child, I was obsessed with Disney's princess narratives. I'd beg my parents to buy me all the latest remixes of Snow White or Sleeping Beauty stories. Though I was reading and writing at a prodigious level, the blissful ignorance of girlhood blinded me from seeing the power in my intelligence and kind spirit; instead, attaching my ideals to the richness I saw these thin, beautiful ladies gain from the love of dashing gentlemen.
For so long, this royal world with all of its love and glitter and wealth and openness was made so visible through a cliched screen. It was close enough to touch. Close enough to taste. But not close enough to hold. Trapped within the opposite reality, experiencing the world's limits and dust and wanting and padlocks; I could only stand in awe, envious of those princesses embraced by life's sparkling dance.
What I didn't understand was- those lucky people who seemed to magically walk a path of stardust were not being embraced by the joys so out of reach to people like me; they were embracing it themselves, building in front of them cobblestone walkways made of sugar and sunshine- embracing a reality of love, finding an ability to lay their paths through barriers, trusting their abilities to continue construction without fear of opposing forces.
I, too, had chosen a reality to embrace: unlike those writing their script of abundance, I clung to the tale thrust upon me- the stories valuing extrinsic means of happiness. Success. Image. Wealth. I equated happiness to the fairytales of true love laced into every pink, sparkly, piece of media, religion, economy, and educational tool I was exposed to. As I grew up, I believed the only way to be hugged by life was to lay dormant, only saved from a kiss from a handsome figure capable of gifting my worth.
As this approach settled deeply into the caverns of my subconscious, I found myself falling into patterns, following a script that had been written for me. Endlessly seeking an "other" to grant me identity, I'd start slowly. Then it would become intense, then I was in love, then I was happy, then it wasn't enough, then it was over and I was faceless again. Self-punishment ran circles around my mind. When it came to forms of beautifying, I would tell myself that everything I was doing was "putting myself first." Outwardly I preached fierce feminist individuality and renounced male approval, but inwardly, I dreamt of it, craved it, adhered to it, and sought boys who could meet my perfected expectations. I slept through each day in a glass box built of self-objectifying attachments, dreaming that all would make sense with the magic of true love's kiss. With my feminine waiting dormant for the clock to strike masculine midnight-happiness was fleeting.
Image Courtesy: Pinterest
Post-Kiss:
I found true love atop a snowy quarry surrounded by a woman who loved me with no conditions. I felt so free within her warmth. Something clicked: I had been searching through worry and projection and dependency, wanting the love of people whose abilities to give had many, many conditions. To meet these requirements I'd been putting on a princess costume sewn together by what I thought the world around me wanted.
Upon that realization, I surrendered tight dresses, flaking makeup, substance use, obsession with the shape of my body and finally, prioritizing romantic love above all aspects of my mental, physical, and emotional health. Upon waking up (although not from the Skol-steeped, sweaty kiss of a STEM major at three in the morning, but the kiss of the universe's never ending light and awareness), I found present in the glittery dance of life.
I am conscious, I am alive, I am the thing I've been looking for. I am what makes me whole.
The present moment is my truth and I fill it with an appreciation for the divine feminine. I fill it by hugging my past self, the inner child trying so hard to walk having never even crawled. I fill it with listening to people. I fill it with an effort to better the planet. I fill it with trust. I fill it with gratitude. I fill it with movement. I fill it with stillness. I fill it with spilled coffee and sunburns and class discussions and french fries and phone calls and rained out beach trips and burnt popcorn and reading books and waiting up for friends and pickles and fender benders and tasting tears and seeing people smile.
For those stuck in a box awaiting happiness from a kiss, or a job, or wealth: Life is long. Thank each moment, observe them as they pass, feel what they offer before letting them go. Do the work to identify and unlearn the patterns that hurt you. Reset your value. Place worth in the intrinsic self, asking which values offer sustained happiness and which come from outward voices. Join me in the dance that seems far out of reach, regardless of your identifications, attachment, or expectations. There is a place for you to freely lay your stone path, piece by piece. Rewrite your script with honest words spelled out by beat of your heart and the song of your truth.
Invest in kindness, unconditional.
Be here now.
Strike Out,
Writer: Brittyn Dion Bonham
Editors: Savannah Tindall and Giselle Parks
Tallahassee