No One Has the Right to Take Away My Smile Like That

My kind of fun things to do these days involves karaoke sessions with my cats. To be precise, I'd sing, and they'd bear with my awful voice and incoherent lyrics. It's silly, but it's the only time I can truly let my hair down.

I can smile as wide as I want without being self-conscious, or laugh as heartily as I can—though technically I can't do that anymore because it triggers my asthma.

Photo by Brandi Redd on Unsplash

This self-consciousness around my smile and laughter is the courtesy of someone I used to call father: that I am sycophantic and my smile or laughter is servile, that I looked like a dog.

Calling someone a dog in this context is a derogatory term in my culture, not cute or endearing. In the language we are familiar with, it’s dodgy. I am using dog directly in keeping with the full nuance of his exact words.

Why can't I simply smile or laugh because I feel comfortable and enjoy being in the presence of another person.

His anger and ridiculous accusations have affected my adult behavior in many unnoticeable ways. Every time I smile at someone, I become intensely self-conscious, wondering if my smile looks doggy or if that person will think I have an ulterior motive.

I would usually try to maintain a poker face, but based on feedback, it’s more like a sour face or an angry scowl, which was far from what I was trying to project.

This is one of the emotional threads I desperately want to repair.

I want to fix that forced mentality. I wish I could go back to that timeline, to shield my younger self from all those nonsenses.

I am going to take back my smile.

©Britt H.

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