I was a teenager with a lot of strangeness in me that I didn't

“I was a teenager with a lot of strangeness in me that I didn’t know how to express. I was trying hard on the outside to be very normal and fit in, but inside I was a big weirdo. Thank God that little weirdo persisted, otherwise I would be so sad.” — thus spoke Alison Sudol, and in her words we find the timeless struggle of the soul: the tension between conformity and authenticity, between the desire to belong and the deeper need to remain true to oneself. It is a cry that has been echoed in every age, for the world often demands masks, while the heart longs to remain unveiled.

The teenager is the symbol of becoming, a figure standing between childhood innocence and adult expectation. At this threshold, the pressure to appear normal, to blend into the crowd, is immense. Sudol’s confession reveals the hidden war: outwardly she performed the role of sameness, yet inwardly she carried strangeness, the sacred uniqueness that made her who she was. This is the plight of many: the fear that one’s true self is too peculiar, too fragile, too different to be accepted.

But she thanks the heavens that the inner weirdo did not die. For in every human being, there is a spark that seems odd, unfit for the molds society creates. Yet it is that spark that holds the key to destiny. The poet, the inventor, the prophet, the artist—these are always the ones who dared to let their strangeness persist. To kill the inner weirdo is to bury the very treasure the universe entrusted to us. To preserve it is to give the world the gift of our authenticity.

History shows this truth clearly. Consider Vincent van Gogh, who spent his life misunderstood, often mocked, his strangeness seen as madness. He tried at times to conform, to live quietly, but the fire of his unique vision persisted. Though he lived and died with sorrow, his art later transformed the world, bringing light and wonder to millions. Had he crushed that inner “weirdo,” the world would be poorer beyond measure. His life, like Sudol’s words, is proof that authenticity, though painful, is the wellspring of greatness.

The origin of Sudol’s reflection lies in her own journey as an artist. Music, poetry, and imagination are not born from perfect conformity but from those hidden corners of the soul that feel odd, vulnerable, and different. By naming herself a “big weirdo,” she does not speak with shame but with reverence. For that inner strangeness became her strength, her well of creativity, the part of her that allowed her to give beauty to others.

The lesson is powerful: guard your inner uniqueness, even when the world tells you to hide it. The pressure to be normal is immense, but “normal” is often just another word for invisible. To live authentically is to risk rejection, but it is also to embrace the joy of being true. If you silence your strangeness, you will one day look back with regret; but if you preserve it, you will discover that what once made you different is what makes you extraordinary.

Practical action follows: do not flee from the parts of yourself that seem unusual. Instead, cultivate them. Write the words that others may not understand, paint the colors that others may not see, sing the notes that others may not hear. Surround yourself with those who honor your uniqueness rather than demand your conformity. And if you see another struggling to hide their inner weirdo, encourage them, for your voice may be the one that gives them courage to persist.

Thus Alison Sudol’s words ring out as a blessing for every soul that has felt odd, misplaced, or strange. To be sad is to live without authenticity; to be whole is to let your inner self breathe, even if it is awkward, even if it is different. Cherish your strangeness, protect your weirdo, and never let the pressure of “normal” steal from you the gift of your true self. For it is in our strangeness that we find not only ourselves, but the light we were born to bring to the world.