Olivia Molly Rogers - Find Your Light: Learning to Accept and Embrace Yourself

Describe Your Childhood in Four Words

Im a middle child.

No matter where you live in the world, youll know what I mean by middle child. Born in Adelaide in 1992, I grew up sandwiched between my big sister Eleanor and little brother Oscar. My mum, Nicky, had three kids under three, so we were often left to entertain ourselves while she tried to keep us fed, clothed and out of moving traffic. My dad, Mark, is a GP. When we were little, he worked long hours, but hed still come home full of energy, ready to answer our questions:

What was the worst injury you saw today?

Any stitches?

Tell us about the cyst extractions!

While Im sure he was exaggerating at times for our enjoyment, getting to tell my friends about how my Dad fixed someones dislocated shoulder always gave me a lot of street-cred on the playground!

While we were all rather shy kids, Eleanor was the funny one. She was popular and a natural-born leader. As the baby of the family (and adorably cute!), Oscar got loads of attention from family and friends. He was also hilarious and managed to make me laugh even when I didnt want to. And then there was me: the reserved and often insecure little girl just trying to learn how to ride her bike down the neighbourhood street. As I pedalled furiously, literally burning rubber on our driveway, I couldnt understand why I wasnt going anywhere. Turns out, Eleanor and Oscar thought it would be hilarious to stand on my training wheels.

This is classic sibling rivalry stuff, right? While some kids might enjoy tussling with their siblings, for someone like me (who was born with roughly zero self-confidence but truckloads of sensitivity), I took their pranks as a cue to retreat. Or rather, my chance to retreat. I actually loved (and still love) alone time where I can mindlessly craft away. As a kid, this meant heading to my room where I would draw in my sketchbook or work on a painting. As Id practise lettering, Id wish I was as coordinated as Eleanor or as funny as Oscar. I longed to have their confidence and charisma. I also longed to have their ability to do a cartwheel or dive into the pool. When I attempted these basic feats, I resembled a baby giraffe on roller skates. Needless to say: coordination wasnt my strength.

Even though I wasnt sporty, I started to realise I had a knack for art. One of my favourite things to draw was the covers of our collection of Disney VHS tapes. I got so good at it, some kids at school accused me of tracing them. As I got older, friends would ask me to draw the title page for their report or design a poster for their club or event. When I was drawing or painting, everything felt right. At least for a while.

When I was eight, my parents took a trip to Europe for their wedding anniversary. Eleanor, Oscar and I stayed with our grandparents and then with a nanny who would come to help shuttle us between home, school and our afterschool activities. When Mum and Dad got back from their trip, we kids sat on the lounge, eagerly awaiting the presents theyd promised us in a phone call. I dont remember what Eleanor and Oscar were given, but Mum gave me a gorgeous United Colours of Benetton T-shirt. I loved clothes, so Mum nailed it with this gift. I couldnt wait to show my friends that I had a shirt you couldnt get in Australia.

My excitement about my parents being home was fairly shortlived. Just a few months later, sitting on the same lounge, they told us some sad news.

Your dad and I arent going to live in the same house anymore, Mum explained.

Oscar was six and didnt understand. Eleanor and I did: our parents were getting a divorce. It was a word Id feared ever since meeting a girl in Year 2 with divorced parents. She had told me all about having two bedrooms, two birthdays and two Christmases and I remember thinking how sad that was and that I hoped it would never happen to me. But it was happening.

Even so, I dont think I really understood what divorce meant. All I knew was that I felt physically sick. My stomach was in knots, my head felt woozy and I didnt know if I was hot or cold. It was the first time I remember having a physical response to something upsetting. (Not even watching Bambi had made me feel this way.)

As I wondered if it meant wed no longer go on holidays as a family or if wed move houses yet again, my parents could see that I was hurting. On the outside, I must have been frowning and close to tears. On the inside, I was thinking: Am I a bad kid? Is that why theyre separating? Is there anything I can do to fix their relationship?

Looking back, I know these thoughts werent based on reality, but as an eight-year-old its hard to understand all the reasons why people separate.

Mum and Dad suggested I go and lie down in their room and watch TV. From this moment on, life kind of became a blur. I dont recall what I watched, I dont remember the day that Dad moved in with his parents, and I dont remember the moment my relationship with food changed. All I do remember is that everything felt out of control.

Baby me, getting the poses in early.

With my sister, Eleanor.

Early memories with Mum and Dad, Eleanor and Oscar.

I have so many great memories growing up with Eleanor and Oscar.

Here, Darling. Eat this.

After the divorce, Mum, Eleanor, Oscar and I moved house so that Eleanor and I could go to the all-girls private school Mum had attended. Sadly, it meant moving away from my best friend, Daisy. (She was a total tomboy whod only agree to play Barbies with me if I agreed to let her be Ken. This worked perfectly well for me because I was more than happy to play all of the female leads in our little game of life.) Luckily, the Year 3 girls at my new school were lovely. My mum also made some great friends. One had a daughter the same age as me named Maddy. She was also a middle child, and so it made sense to join forces.

At this age, I was never really that conscious of my body. While some of my friends were obsessed with when they might get breasts or counting how many ab muscles they had, I just felt my body got me where I needed to go it allowed me to draw, paint, play with my friends, eat Vegemite and swim in the surf on holidays. What more could I need? In fact, there were many years I loved my body and never blinked twice about having my belly out while doing a performance that clearly required a midriff-baring look! I often think about the innate carefree confidence a lot of children have. Im guessing its because youre temporarily shielded (or blissfully unaware) that (most) societies feel like your worth is dependent on your appearance.