The Me Book, Part Three: This is Me

A series: 5-year-old Becky's interpretation of self, with commentary by 38-year-old Becky.

According to RS.a (the first version of myself), this is (was) me.

I’m struggling with body image today, so reflecting on RS.a’s depiction of the way she looks is… timely.

I am (unapologetically) larger than life.

The Me Book is made of eight beige sheets of construction paper cut in half length-wise, bound with red yarn between two yellow sheets of half-length construction paper. The “This is Me” self portrait was drawn onto a separate, full size sheet of off-white construction paper, stapled onto the assignment page and folded in half to make it (almost) fit into the book.

I am not at all surprised that RS.a would not be limited to the size of the original page when drawing herself. Not only did she take liberties with scale and proportion here, but she also made it work by stapling it to the original sheet, unapologetically. I love this about my childhood self. She was unashamed, inventive, and always thought outside the box. She found her own way in her tasks.

I am monochrome, genderless, formless, and my hands are weird.

The first art prize I ever won (same elementary school, maybe a few years later?) was for detail and accuracy when I drew multiple stick people gathered around a flag pole. Each one of them had their right hand over their heart in salute to the flag. At some point, these details mattered, but apparently not this early. My left hand has the correct number of fingers, but the right hand looks like something that ChatGPT would conjure up. Almost every other page in The Me Book has a drawing done in at least three colors, but in this one, RS.a chose only the color brown. I wish I could ask her about this.

I took an entire, full-sized sheet of construction paper to draw a large scale version of myself, and I have no torso, no legs, and no feet. I have no clothes, no hair, and no accessories. I am almost featureless. This drawing could speak to a lack of awareness about my appearance at such a young age. It could also speak to me not calling out the things that made me look unique because I did not enjoy standing out. At this age, standing out resulted in getting noticed by a few bad young men who caused me a great deal of trauma. I’m not sure I’ll ever discuss that in greater public detail than in this one mention. I’ve had the same big, bright eyes and long, red hair my whole life. My unique features should’ve shown up here, but they didn’t. This might be the first documented case of me downplaying the good things about my appearance.

I am smiling, but not genuinely.

I do have a smile, but I find it… unsettling. In the pages that follow, my smile is nowhere near as pronounced, even on the happy pages. When I look at the smile on this page, it does not feel genuine. It looks scarily exaggerated, like the ear-to-ear grins shown in horror films, when a perfectly normal face disfigures into a smiley, evil face. This smile looks like it was expected and not felt. It looks hasty. It looks like it was part of the assignment.

This is me.

I think The Me Book was done at a time when I started to become aware of my surroundings, of my feelings towards myself, and of how others made me feel. There’s a lot more of that in the pages that follow this one. It’s a lot to unpack.

RS.a, laid the foundation of who I am now. My addendum to this page in The Me Book would be this picture of me: multicolor, full form, and genuinely smiling.