Marilyn Monroe | Norma Jeane Baker and the Woman the World Created

There are people we admire.

There are people we respect.

And then there are the rare souls we somehow carry with us long before we fully understand why.

For me, that person has always been Marilyn Monroe.

Or perhaps I should say…

Norma Jeane Baker.

From the time I was in middle school until I graduated from high school, every June 1st I bought Marilyn a birthday cake.

My family would indulge me and gather around and sing “Happy Birthday” to a woman who had been gone for years.

Looking back, I smile.

It sounds a little unusual.

Maybe even a little silly.

But it never felt silly to me.

I wasn’t celebrating a Hollywood icon.

I was celebrating a little girl who somehow found a way to become unforgettable.

Marilyn died eight years before I was born.

She entered the world on June 1, 1926.

She left it on August 4, 1962.

There has always been something strangely poetic to me about those numbers.

1926.

1962.

As though history quietly folded in on itself.

She died at only thirty-six years old, forever carrying the beauty and hopefulness of youth.

Yet somehow…

More than sixty years later…

She still matters.

That says something.

Because beauty alone does not survive generations.

Something deeper does.

Before there was Marilyn Monroe…

There was a little girl named Norma Jeane Baker.

She never knew her father.

Her mother spent much of her life hospitalized with severe mental illness.

Home was never truly home.

Love was never certain.

Safety wasn’t guaranteed.

She moved from foster home to foster home, sometimes finding kindness and sometimes enduring things that no child should ever experience.

Imagine that little girl trying to picture her future.

Could she have imagined that one day she would become the most recognized woman in the world?

I doubt it.

And perhaps that is why I have always loved her.

Not because she was beautiful.

Because she never stopped becoming.

During World War II she worked in a factory helping the war effort, just like countless other young women.

An Army photographer happened to notice her.

One photograph led to another.

Modeling led to Hollywood.

Norma Jeane slowly transformed into Marilyn Monroe.

The world remembers the transformation.

I find myself fascinated by the girl who transformed.

Because she never stopped trying to improve herself.

She studied acting with remarkable dedication.

She read constantly.

She loved literature.

Poetry.

Art.

Psychology.

She built a library that surprised people who assumed beauty and intellect could not possibly exist in the same person.

She wanted to become a better actress.

A better artist.

A better human being.

She wasn’t content simply being admired.

She wanted to be understood.

I think that’s one reason I’ve always been drawn to her.

People often remember Marilyn as a sex symbol.

I remember her curiosity.

There has always been something wonderfully human about Marilyn.

She loved hot dogs.

She laughed easily.

She had impeccable comedic timing.

Whether you watch Some Like It Hot or Bus Stop, you quickly realize she wasn’t merely beautiful.

She was gifted.

She could make us laugh.

She could make us cry.

She could make us believe that vulnerability itself was beautiful.

Her eyes have always fascinated me.

They seemed to tell two entirely different stories.

One invited the world closer.

The other quietly wondered whether anyone would stay.

I think millions of people saw Marilyn.

I wonder how many truly saw Norma Jeane.

She also quietly changed the world’s idea of beauty.

Today someone might have encouraged her to lose weight.

To erase every curve.

To reshape her face.

To become smaller.

Instead…

She became entirely herself.

Soft.

Curvy.

Feminine.

Confident.

She didn’t follow beauty standards.

She became one.

That is remarkably rare.

Then there was Joe DiMaggio.

Their marriage didn’t last.

But perhaps love did.

After Marilyn died, Joe reportedly arranged for roses to be placed at her crypt three times each week for nearly twenty years.

No photographers.

No interviews.

No audience.

Just flowers.

Quietly.

Faithfully.

For decades.

Some people leave an impression that never really fades.

Perhaps Joe never stopped loving Norma Jeane.

Marilyn longed to have children.

She longed for stability.

She longed to feel safe.

She longed to build the kind of home she herself had never known.

There is something profoundly heartbreaking about that.

The little girl who spent her childhood searching for love grew into a woman the entire world adored.

And yet I sometimes wonder if she still questioned whether anyone truly loved her.

Not Marilyn.

Norma Jeane.

Her death remains one of history’s great mysteries.

Some believe she died by suicide.

Others believe it was an accidental overdose.

Still others believe darker theories.

The truth may never be fully known.

But perhaps, in some ways, that isn’t the most important part of her story.

I wish she had lived.

I wish she had become an old woman.

Can you imagine eighty-year-old Marilyn?

Teaching young actors.

Reading poetry.

Still wearing red lipstick.

Still making people laugh.

Perhaps becoming a grandmother.

Still ordering hot dogs now and then.

The world lost all of those possibilities.

And I think that is one of history’s quiet tragedies.

As I have written this series, I have realized something unexpected.

Helen became unforgettable through myth.

Cleopatra through history.

Simonetta through art.

Sisi through freedom.

Marilyn became unforgettable through vulnerability.

Not because she was weak.

Because she had the courage to let the world see tenderness.

Hope.

Joy.

Longing.

Heartbreak.

Wonder.

And humanity.

All at once.

That takes extraordinary strength.

I hope that hundreds of years from now, people will still remember Marilyn Monroe.

But I hope they remember something more than the white dress.

More than the photographs.

More than the glamour.

I hope they remember Norma Jeane.

The little girl who simply wanted to be loved.

The curious woman who never stopped learning.

The gifted actress whose brilliance often hid beneath her beauty.

The woman who reminded us that softness is not weakness.

That vulnerability is not failure.

And that sometimes the people who shine the brightest are also the ones quietly hoping someone will love them simply for who they are.

Because beauty does not become timeless because of how someone looked.

Beauty becomes timeless because of how someone made the world feel.

Marilyn made us laugh.

She made us dream.

She made us wonder.

She made us care.

And more than sixty years after her passing, she is still reminding us that the most beautiful part of any person is not found in their reflection.

It is found in their humanity.

May we never become so captivated by someone’s image that we forget to look for the beautiful soul behind it.

And may we always remember that the people who leave the deepest imprint on our hearts are rarely those who looked the most perfect—but those who made us feel the most deeply.

With love,

🍯 Honey 💋 (MaryNell)