The late bloomer

I once read a book in the 2nd grade called “Leo the Late Bloomer”. It was about a little tiger cub that couldn’t do anything right. He couldn’t read, couldn’t write, he couldn’t eat without making a mess. He had trouble finding his voice.  But then one day in his own time he bloomed and all was right in Leo’s world. 

The book concludes with the happy update “and then one day LEO BLOOMED.” 

In his own time. Finally.

The last page shows Leo surrounded by his parents celebrating as he proudly announces, “I made it!” 

For the corresponding class activity my teacher had the students fill out a workbook plugging our name into the blank spaces where Leo’s would normally go. They even had us bring in a little cut out photo of our faces that they would photocopy so we would put it on top of where Leo’s face was. Now each student had their own personalized books.  “Sarah The Late Bloomer” my title read. My round chubby face with a half awkward smile filled the pages of the book, staring back at me. They even had it laminated and bound for us so we could take it home. It was made with that plastic spiral binding that would eventually fall out of the holes if you turned the page too fast and thick laminated pages that would probably last forever.  A lifetime reminder. I know my mother still has it in the attic packed in a box I should go through. 

My teacher was offering us grace.  The book was meant to remind kids that it’s OK if it takes a little longer with things, to bloom. 

The miniature version of myself related to Leo so much and would believe this book was written just for me and believe too that I was a late bloomer for a very long time. And in a lot of ways I was. My mother would even reference the book growing up too many times to count. “Remember that book about Leo?!” She would often recall in reassurance whenever I was worrying about something. Which was often, trying to give myself the grace I usually wasn’t giving myself. Little Sarah grew up with a lot of fear and worried so much about so much that she often made herself sick. 

I think about that little girl a lot. Every day actually. 

That little girl wished her shorts fit better and that someone wanted to go to the spring fair with her as her date. She wished her family looked a little more like everyone else’s and she wasn’t so scared of her father. She wished she was a little better at school especially math and spelling and that she could do more projects and presentations instead of tests. 

But she was creative and curious and kind and eventually found her voice through theater and making things in art class and expressing herself through the imaginary TV show she hosted and dreamed up in the living room for her stuffed animals. She did these things despite her fears and all the hard things she was growing through. She smiled through a lot of it. She just wanted to help others probably because she needed a little extra help herself. She was determined and taught herself to ride a bike, and tie her shoes even though it took longer than she thought it should. It wasn’t easy but she became resilient and dedicated and saw hope and beauty and never gave up. There was really no other way for her.

Looking back I think she easily could have given up a lot of times and I’m thankful she didn’t because then this would be a totally different story. 

The older I’ve become the more I’ve wanted to be who I needed when I was younger. A safe space for the worried little girl who didn’t realize who she would grow into. I’ve wanted to remind her it would all eventually be ok. That her differences were her gifts and strengths. That she would someday feel comfortable in her body no matter her size. She would wear shorts again and ride her bike daily and feel comfortable doing both. That she didn’t need a date to the spring fair or anywhere to remind her of her value and worth. That she would find family in friends. She would be so much smarter than tests ever told her she was. That her creativity is more than something secondary and she should pursue the things that make her happy no matter her skills, no matter the finished product. So I remind myself these things daily and do it all for her. 

I spent my 40th birthday this week at the beach reflecting. 40. I’ve been thinking about my life and all that has lead me to this milestone. A milestone I can’t believe is here but also know that it’s time to step into this new decade. Thinking about the little girl that never even imagined the life I would live and what could be possible. And that is what makes it so beautiful

So I stood on the beach with my eyes closed, right before the sunset on my 40th. I had packed myself a picnic to enjoy golden hour. Listening to the waves crash and the seagulls singing. Breathing in the salty air with children laughing nearby as they tried flying kites as the sea breeze blew through my hair.  

But I also heard something else. A familiar voice I had heard so many times before. It was so quiet at first. A whisper. A little girl. She was speaking words I knew from another time. The voice was about 7 or 8 years old. She was reciting from one of her favorite book but this time it was a little different. The tiny voice got near the end and quietly, but clearly said

“and then one day, SARAH BLOOMED.” 

In her own time. Finally. 

I heard it. In between the crashing waves. I smiled, squeezing my eyes shut even tighter, listening and soaking in what I had just heard. I opened my eyes now looking around at the beauty that surrounded me. The tide coming in and out over my feet, the dogs running in the surf and the kids with their kites. I took a moment to pause. To celebrate myself and her and then I also proudly and quietly said out loud just so only I could hear, “I made it.”

Just like Leo. 

But this time instead of the story ending it was just beginning.