You may not think that a little thing such as being born with red hair could have so much of an impact on someones life…but it has.

My old best friend and I

As a little girl I’m sure people thought I was cute – with my shock of red hair flaming around my face. That all changed.

I grew older, retreated into my shell, gained freckles and developed pimples. These were combined with splotchy, easily blush-able and burnable skin. I didn’t eat a lot of junk food. I mean, we couldn’t afford it.  Plus we lived in the hills, no where near a fast food restaurant. I was still teased and told that I shouldn’t eat so much chocolate, or chips, or pizza (cause my face looked like one – hahahaha – not).

My body – I became an awkward, supposedly ‘pudgy’ teenager. I hated my shape, and the other kids teased me for it. Looking back on photos of myself I was actually slim…just not slim enough. Being made – by the TEACHER – to weigh myself in front of the entire class in year 5 hadn’t helped. I was the 2nd heaviest girl in the class – I have heavy bones! But because the 1st placed girl had a note so as NOT to put her weight on the board, I claimed 1st place…and the teasing that went with it. THAT lasted into high school. The starving myself…well that lasted – on and off – for a long time, followed by excessive exercising, binge eating, and so on.

And then there was my last name – Ripper. As soon as kids could latch onto that they did. Oh – and my first initial, of course, was J…Janine the Stripper, Janine the Ripper, are you related to Jack? And then there were the original ones – ooo what’s that smell…you let off a ripper.  Of course, I did what any red-headed girl would do blush…badly. 

But that was no way near the flack I copped for my hair. My hair became unruly, and it was still red. How dare I have red hair? I mean – ‘how ugly’. Of course, I couldn’t be seen wearing any colour as every colour ‘clashed’ with red hair. So I wore black, and I was told I looked ‘deathly’ pale. I was told that no boy would ever want to go out with me, and mostly they didn’t (apart from the red-headed boy). I was whispered about on the school bus, just loud enough to be heard…‘the ugly red-headed girl’ – the girls giggled, as did the boys. When the bus braked, and I fell onto the pile of school bags – well, there was more ammo. Yes, I’m a clutz too. So I retreated further into books…

Met at 18

As I got older, I was certain no boy would ever like me, and as I got older still – after being slapped on the ass whilst on the dance floor of a club and laughed at, and followed down the street by men heckling – I threw myself into work, study, getting drunk, and making out with any blind drunk random who would kiss me at the end of the night.

Depression took hold of me – although I didn’t accept that that was what it was at the time. Living in a state with beautiful beaches just seemed cruel. I just couldn’t compare to the blonde, bronzed godesses that surrounded me everywhere I turned. I couldn’t even compare to the ‘alternative’ girls at uni. I was no one, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to get out of this godforsaken country where everywhere I turned I was reminded of my inadequacies.

Singapore was my first trip overseas with my dearest friend Charissa. This was where I found a whole new world. I was told I could be a model there? Men tripped over their feet staring at me. Was I pretty?

Italy was my second trip overseas. 6 weeks backpacking, whilst being sweet talked by Italian stallions, followed into the toilets by a seedy old man in Naples, driven into fits of laughter by a jock from the US, and charmed by a brooding American writer who was the first man I had ever experienced ‘electricity’ with. The trip ended in Paris, where I was made to feel ‘beautiful’.

Searching for myself

As the 6 weeks came to an end I had to return home, where I still did not feel at home. I felt like a foreigner. I didn’t belong, no matter how hard I tried. This was in the midst of an increasing drug culture, and the fact that I didn’t do drugs…well, it was like being at high school again. I was ‘strange’, ‘weird’, I ‘wasn’t interested in anything’. In a nutshell – I was boring. That was the straw that broke the camels back. I chucked in everything and went overseas indefinitely, where I was looked at, loved, charmed, broken and restored. In return I had flirted, smiled, loved, broke-down, and built myself up again. You could say that I found my self.

9 1/2 months later I returned home…sooner than expected, but it was my choice. I was a new person…I was confident! Some people didn’t like it, many that I had worked with before I had left. They didn’t like the new ‘confident‘ me. They definitely didn’t like me sticking up for myself, or the fact that I started achieving things in my career fast. Of course, others loved the new me…and so did I.

What am I trying to say by sharing this with you?

It’s not that looks count for everything. As looks fade.

It’s not that loving someone will solve everything…because it doesn’t. 

It could be that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

Or that in order to love others, you must first love yourself.

It is that childhood bullying scars, and that these scars can last a lifetime.

In the end, through sharing this story, and the others in ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series, I hope to help people see.

EVERYTHING HAS ITS BEAUTY BUT NOT EVERYONE SEES IT - CONFUCIUS

Janine plus Vitamin D and a glass of wine