Just a few words about why I'm writing this and to establish my credentials as an ugly woman. As I do every few months or so, I Googled "ugly", "being ugly", terms like that. And this time I bumped into a tumblr on the subject. Being older, I'd heard of, but hadn't seen tumblr before. Anyway, it was a page called Ugly People Problems and I spent 15 minutes nodding, laughing, sighing at each small shot to the heart of being ugly. I saw that the poster is a 20 year old from Australia, and many of her thoughts reflected the isolation and sheer shit that is the lot of the ugly adolescent. She's a wonderful writer. So I thought, I've been an ugly teenager, an ugly young adult, an ugly middle aged woman, etc, maybe I can share a little of the perspective that years bring. I was born in 1955 with a cleft palate and congenital lip deformity. The common term is hairlip. "Hairlip" is a word often used in older novels to connote a person so ugly that she is beneath the attentions of even the most luckless idiot. Such as, "Marry Lady Devenish? Why I'd sooner kiss a hairlip! Ahahahaha!" Like that. Back in 1955, congenital lip deformity repair was nothing like the magical transformation that is largely completed after birth. I had many operations; about 18 before I was 20. Each surgery held the promise of a straight, less bulbous nose, an actual philtrum above my lip instead of a scar, an actual lip instead of an uneven bumpy mess, an actual chin, cheekbones, etc. Each surgery failed to deliver. My teeth are terrible; crooked because of the deformity, and yellow from the prescription drugs my mom took when she was pregnant. Braces didn't help much. Oh, and I've been six feet tall from about 18 years old. While dear friends and the professionally compassionate will say, "Oh, don't say that, you're not ugly!", I have a lifetime of experiences that tell me different: -My mother said that the old women in the neighborhood where I was born told her I was a curse from God. -No dates,ever. Oh, once a "friend" and I were sent into an ice cream shop to pickup cones for a group in the car. While we were leaning over the case to make our choices, I put my hand on his shoulder. He looked wildly around the shop to see if anyone had noticed, then turned to me and said, "Don't ever, ever, touch me again!" -I was a college student in the 70s; the era of free sexual expression and had no sex. I went to a college known for sexual abandon and had no sex. I wore slinky dresses and sang sexy Bonnie Raitt blues songs and had no sex. -I've never, ever been told I was pretty. Or been whistled at. I'm a feminist and yes, I understand that sexual harassment is wrong. -I do music therapy with the elderly. A couple of years ago, a older woman said, "What are you, a man or a woman?" I get that a lot since I'm so tall and have very short hair, so I happily told her I was a woman. She said, "You can't be a woman, you're too ugly!" That's enough to begin with, I suppose. This is not going to be a blog about my pain, except as it may help explain my philosophies and coping strategies. Let me end this first post by saying that I like my life, I know how lucky I am in so many ways. I've never met anyone I wanted to be more than I want to be myself. If you're ugly and you're hurting, know that I've been there, I still go there sometimes. Let's get through this together.