The Truth About Cinderella

As someone who grew up watching many Disney princess movies, I’ve discovered there is one story that is fondest in my memory.

I couldn’t really identify with Belle and her beast, though I loved her gold dress and her perfect hair. (Maybe it was all the snow—I never really liked playing in the cold.) I always got so upset when Ariel’s father destroyed all her treasures in that one scene, and Ursula was a bit scary there in the end, even if I did find it funny how she put on lipstick. And that whole dragon-fight scene in Sleeping Beauty was a  little much for my five-year-old, very sensitive mind.

Cinderella just stands out a bit in my memory, above the rest of her princess counterparts. Maybe it’s because we had slides of her story in that 3-D Viewmaster-thing. Maybe it’s because there was dancing and pretty dresses and a giant orange pumpkin.

But my adult mind has recently decided even further why; there’s more to her story than just bad luck and mean step-family members.

Here’s how I think Cinderella’s life really was.

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Once upon a time, there was a very tired young lady named Cinderella. She lived with her step-mother and two step-sisters who were very selfish and absorbed in their own lives.

Cinderella had always suffered with fibromyalgia, and because of this, she couldn’t always go to balls like her step-sisters could and had to stay home a lot. So the three she lived with decided that Cinderella ought to be the one to keep the house clean and do all the chores—if she was always home, she might as well be the maid.

So Cinderella spent all her time cleaning, not just because she was the only one doing it, but also because she could only do so much at a time and had to take so many breaks, she could never get it all done.

When she found out about the Prince’s ball, she knew she just had to go—it was her one chance to get out of the house and meet someone who could love her and take care of her.

We all know about the fairy godmother and the pumpkin carriage and all. So she did get to go to the ball, but there was more on her mind that night than the clock striking twelve. There was so much going on at the ball—the music, people laughing and talking, the bright lights swirling around her as she danced, all while trying to focus on the Prince and the nice conversation he was trying to have with her and also attempting to act like she was okay—that by nearly midnight she was exhausted and very sad that, between her tiredness, her sensory overload, and her fibro fog, she couldn’t enjoy the evening nearly as well as she wanted to. And she was also sure all of this had caused her to make a bad impression on the Prince.

When the Prince finally came to her house looking for the owner of the slipper she had lost on her haste to leave the ball, she had little desire to try on the slipper, though she knew it was hers. She was certain that she had not made a very good impression on the Prince and that even if she somehow had, there was no way he would want to marry a girl like her once he knew what she was living with.

But the Prince had seen just enough of Cinderella at that ball to know that he wanted to marry her. And when he finally got to have her try on the glass slipper, and thus declared his feelings, she told him all about her health problems. He listened very carefully before assuring her that fibromyalgia had no influence on his feelings for her and that he would take care of her forever.

So Cinderella was rescued from her selfish step-family and married her Prince, who helped her clean and loved her every day. And they indeed lived happily ever after, even when she was tired, and in pain, and sometimes in too much fog to realize she was married to such a wonderful Prince Charming.

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Somehow, knowing that Cinderella and I have far more in common than a love for dancing and the color orange makes me feel better, even if just for a few moments.