I've loved The Little Mermaid, since I was a young child. Of all the princesses, Ariel definitely left the biggest impression on my young heart. I loved the movie, before I could even understand it.

My parents tell me that even as a toddler, the scene in which Ariel gets her voice back always made me cry. Without fully understanding it, tears would stream down my little four-year old face.

As I grew older, she remained my favourite of the Disney princesses. And it's only as I watched the live action a few months ago, that I began to understand that some of this admiration might come from the fact that I in some way relate to the famous little mermaid.

Head Underwater

I'm not a fan of water. I'm an awful swimmer. I was that child who clung to her floaties for the longest time. I still don't care to swim in the deep end. #forever doing the doggy paddle.

I never fully understood why Ariel was my favourite princess. The book lover in me thought that Belle should have taken that number one spot.

But I long felt trapped, just like Ariel did. I felt like I was looking up at the real world, through hazy eyes. Looking past a glass of water. Like my head was underwater; drowning in controlled tears, while everyone else was floating with genuine smiles on their faces.

I wanted to be part of that world. A world in which people got to live as they wanted, outside of their head. A world where people spoke their thoughts. A world where people were confident enough to dance in the rain and approach princes.

Bargains

I was terrified of the sea witch, as a kid. While Ariel was my favourite princess, Ursula was my least favourite villain. And I think that's because part of me knew that I would easily fall victim to her bargains.

I was so caught up in self-hatred, hatred for my silent and shy tendencies, that I would have gone to great lengths to make those thoughts dissapear. Risk my soul, to finally be part of the real world and find love? My younger self wouldn't have hesitated. Anything seemed better than being trapped in my own body.

Losing Your Voice

I never really lost my voice. Instead I trained myself to never use it. I kept it restrained. I didn't need an Ursula, I hid my voice away in my own shell. Unspoken words held no risk of inducing judgement... or so I thought. I was so scared to say the wrong thing, that I thought it less harmful to keep my mouth shot. But unspoken words come with heavy regret. And my silence gave many people the wrong impression.

The longer I was quiet, the harder I found in to speak up. Even when I wasn't feeling insecure. I felt like I had lost the social aptness of holding a conversation. It had become a habit.

I hated my inability to use my voice. I hated myself so deeply, that I was desperate for someone to love me. Desperate for someone to show me that I could be loved, despite my flaws.

Enters Prince Eric

He falls in love with a silent girl. Prince Eric was exactly what I thought I needed. He falls in love with Ariel when she can't speak. He was my last string of hope, that someone might love me in my broken state.

I've had people think I was mute, because I was so quiet. The Ariel who lost her voice, in some way was the version of myself that I hated so long. I think I loved her so much, because I wanted to prove that she could be loved. That she was still a person with depth and value, despite her silence. When I couldn't love myself, I chose to love an idea that reflected my reality.

Prince Eric was the ultimate fantasy. To think of man having the patience, to sit through my silence, and collect parts of me by reading between the lines. Oh, how naive it was to think that true love's kiss could heal all my insecurities. I really wish it were that simple.

I say this proudly: I have yet to find my prince Eric. And I say that proudly because it was never what I needed, and it would not have benefited me in the way I was hoping.

You can't rely on another person to show you the meaning of self-love.

In some way, I learned to become my own prince. I never needed another person to feel love. While I used to think the concept unachievable, I am capable of loving myself. I wouldn't have been ready for a romantic relationship before reaching this point.

I can show myself the patience I need to see through the quietness. Through the clouds of insecurities that still rain down on me.

I can appreciate both my quietest and loudest moments.

I can laugh at my clumsiness, as though I'm walking on two feet for the first time.

I can laugh and love my awkwardness and failure to perceive social cues, as we do when Ariel brushes her hair with a fork.

While I'm not opposed to finding my prince, I certainly don't need one to reclaim my voice and sing my song.