I Don't Want to Be the Funny Girl Anymore

I am a funny girl. I am the funny girl.
Seriously, that is my defining quality. Just ask anyone and they’ll tell you that I’m the sort of girl who can always make you laugh.
It’s just who I am. It’s just who I’ve always been–a jumble of bad puns and good jokes, a mish-mash of witticisms, of social commentary that somehow always seems to hitsome mark (even if it isn’t the one I intended). I’m a girl, that girl, who has turned self-deprecation into an art form.
I’m funny. I’m a funny girl.
And I think I’m finally over it.

Don’t get me wrong, I like being funny. Making people laugh is something that brings me a whole lot of joy. I live for those moments–live for huge grins and accidental snorts, live for knowing that I’ve genuinely made someone happy. It’s a talent, being funny, and hell, even I have enough confidence to admit that. At my core, I’m a comedian. I was born for it.I know this. I accept this. And boy, do I revel in it.
The problem is, I’m so much more than just the funny girl.
I just have no idea how to show it.

Humor is my armor. I pull it on in the morning. I wear it to bed. It protects me, keeps me from letting people get too close, keeps me from getting hurt. As long as they’re laughing, everything is fine. As long as they’re laughing, I’ve done something right. So, I make myself a joke. I make myself a character. Sitcom myself up, become a walking, talking prat-fall that sends milk right out of your nose. I become something so entirely palatable, something so entirely likable that you can’t help but get on board. It’s a shell of who I am, sure–just the very, very tip of the iceberg–but it’s something. It’s something.
And you like me, you really like me.

All at once, my humor is a means of deflection and attraction. I want you to like me. But I don’t want you to know me. Because if you do get to know me, will you still like what you see? So, make ’em laugh and they won’t bother to look, make ’em laugh and they won’t bother to dig. Funny people are happy people, right? There’s nothing under the surface. At least not anything to worry about.

My humor has become something of a compulsion. Every single hurt I’ve ever felt, I’ve made a joke out of. Every insult I’ve received, I’ve just laughed off. My hopes and dreams, my wants and desires, are all discussed in this half-assed, just kidding sort of way. The only emotions I let myself feel (in public, at least) are the type that leave a smile plastered on my face. I don’t go all in, not emotionally. I never have. And I hate it.

This is what I’m talking about. This is what I want to move past.
Because being the funny girl has stopped me from letting myself be seen.

I am both vulnerable and impenetrable. And my personality, my whole personality, has become something of a punchline that never really comes around because I don’t let it. I’m scared, okay? I’m scared. But playing at brave isn’t enough. I want to be brave.
I want someone to see me. I want someone to see me wholly.
And if that’s going to happen, I’ve got to let it happen.

I need to stop clinging to my humor like it’s a life vest. I need to take that leap, dive right in, and be myself.
The thing is, I am the funny girl.
But I’m a lot of other girls too.
And it’s about time they started getting some attention.