"She's so oblivious."

—was the comment a dad made in regards to his young daughter.

The little girl has been running from where they sit up the beach, down to the water and back for nearly ten minutes now, collecting shells and buckets of water. Each time she comes back, she asks if she can swim deeper into the ocean. “Ankle deep” is always the answer, though. The waves are too big, and the current too strong. But she continues to run back and forth, smiling and laughing all along. 

This little girl does not have a care in the world. If she is oblivious, then that is what I want to be. To be able to run around, hair blowing in the wind, a smile on my face, like nobody's watching. This little girl is unaware of the judgment that people may cast her way. She is unaware of any possible danger around her and unable to fathom who could be so mean.

As this little girl grows up, she will eventually venture deeper. And before she notices, the oblivion she has now will be lost to the sea. It will happen most while she’s distracted, when the constant pressure of the current is forgotten. It’s in watching her mom scrutinize the body in the mirror, and in listening to her dad comment on every outfit she wears.

At other times, there will be storms so large that the waves erode away and stake claim to entire chunks of who she is. That’s where the dreary clouds of depression loom so long overhead that you forget the sunshine and contemplate suicide. It’s where the pressure of performance pushes you so hard it forces you to starve. 

One day this little girl will wake up, realize just how deep in she is, and not know which way is home. Home to her body. Home to her mind. Home to her soul. These spaces will be taken and are hard to find. 

I speak from my own experience.

I lay not five yards from this little girl, but I do not laugh with the same belly laugh or shriek with the same joyous shriek. I feel the eyes around me. They scan my body, lingering long over the parts they like and scowling beastly about the parts they don’t. I rethink the bikini I chose and where I decided to lay. The oblivion this little girl still possesses, has already been torn from me.

I do not have the luxury of not knowing, but I have seen my day awake in the sea. So, I do not cover up or move from where I lay. These are my forms of protest, in an effort to paddle back to me. 

I now make decisions based on what I want, not on what I am told to be. I will never again have the oblivion of this little girl, but I will push back against what ripped it from me. I will wear the cheeky bikini bottoms and wade into the water, continuing louder as need be. In hopes that one day, maybe this little girl will know herself a little more than me.