The Cinderella Syndrome

Written and submitted by Samfong.


 

I vividly remember the exact time I decided that Cinderella’s story was the best ever — ideal, even — when I was rewatching the old Disney classic on VHS (back in the 90s).

 

It was the time she walked in and all eyes were on her, especially the prince’s.

 

vmkAeeuIQuQlThis part, for those of you who don’t remember/are too young to. 

 

Anyway, it was at this part that after bowing and being introduced to what must have been a thousand girls, he looks up and clearly is bored with everything, and notices a girl in the distance. He immediately breaks protocol, leaves his spot, bypasses the stepsisters and made his way to the girl that caught his eye.

 

To the young me, it seemed … romantic. Enthralling. It gave me a thrill that made me realise that there is probably no greater feeling to be the hotshot’s favoured person, the one who captured everyone’s attention and most importantly, to be the ‘it’ girl.

 

I think this feeling carried on to my real life, especially after having being rejected too many times during my earlier years in school, I honestly for once wanted to be the girl that got, or rather, deserved the attention.

 

Of course, I grew out of it, or rather, I thought I did. Sometimes, in my now-adult life, I feel to lazy to even bother. However, on other times, that feeling lurks in the background — especially in a social situation. I feel it eyeing me from the corner of the pub, whenever I’m out with my girlfriends. I wanted to be that person who that hot guy with the bunch of friends keeps looking at. I wanted to be the person who got bought drinks. I wanted to be that person the most desirable person in the room would want to be chat up.

 

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I wanted all eyes on me. Looking back, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it, but the feeling of being wanted is … nice. It’s almost addictive.

 

Should I blame Disney for putting all these ridiculous thoughts and versions of the ideal in my head? Or do I have myself to blame for such low self-esteem? Is it human nature? What it is exactly, I don’t know. But, I have coined a term for it called ‘The Cinderella Syndrome’.

 

Think about it. It happens in these stages:

 

  1. You get noticed by everyone including the most important person in the room.
  2. That important person(s) will want to spend time with you, and end up adoring you no matter what you do.
  3. You call all the shots, because you know they’re putty in your hands.
  4. When you leave, people will most likely chase after you, or stop you.
  5. People end up thinking about you long after you’re gone (such is the search for the girl who would fit that one glass slipper).

 

wait-you-can-t-go-now.jpg

 

I don’t know how to stop this feeling either. I’m happily married with 3 beautiful kids, and yet, when I do go out … I crave for the attention. I want it so badly that when it does happen, I end up thinking about it for days after. One guy can buy me a drink at the bar, or compliment me, and I will happily say that I’m married. Of course, that brings on more compliments like “You look good for a mother!” (despite the bad insinuation there).

 

But god, do I love the attention.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not looking to replace my husband, or even have thoughts of cheating on him … I just … want to feel … wanted, craved. My husband does make me feel desired, and I’m overall, satisfied with my life with him. I love my life. I wouldn’t do a thing to change it.

 

But, is it wrong that once in a while, I would like to enjoy the attention of others, despite my life right now? Is it wrong to want to feel wanted? To … fantasise?

 

I can’t be alone in feeling this way. Do you feel the same way? Do you have The Cinderella Syndrome too? Are we all Cinderella-wannabes?

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About Anything Lah!

This blog began with a dream to bring people closer together – to write about their thoughts, opinions and experiences ranging from ghost stories to relationships and to life lessons! If you have a story to share, write to us at askanythinglah@gmail.com.