As a child I was a real player. By the end of preschool, I had kissed every boy in my class (on the cheek). My mother has photographic evidence that, unfortunately, she likes to share with everyone. I was very outgoing at that age, generally a happy kid. I had many friends, boys and girls, and was a complete chatterbox. I loved playing games on the playground, and doing silly things like taking carrot bags from the lunch room as pets (a lot of people did!). The biggest dilemma of my day was whether I would get a swing at recess. Life was a lot easier back then. I didn’t have to worry about my body, a relationship, or popularity. How I wish life could stay that innocent. I want to forget the years of pre-adolescent awkwardness, like a horrible nightmare.
The years in junior high were some of the toughest years of my life. There are about four years’ worth of photographs I wish I could burn. There was a different vibe than in elementary school, more serious and mature. People were more focused on your popularity and looks, which I frankly never excelled in. I had frizzy hair, was pleasantly plump, and had acne. But I didn’t want to change; I liked the way I was. I was content with my life, and I was convinced that I could continue behaving and looking like I always have. Oh how delusional I was. I learned the hard way that people like me get swept under the rug and forgotten, never given a second glance when passing in the hallway.
All of the popular girls began getting boyfriends, and I was left behind. By the end of junior high both of my best friends were fluent in the language of boyfriends and sexual things, where I was totally illiterate. People thought it was weird that I never kissed anyone; some even though it was strange I never had sex. I was twelve! The popular girls would judge me, and I was outcast from their groups. They would look down on me, as if I was a lame wannabe who should bow at their feet. I felt incompetent compared to more experienced girls. But truth is I didn’t want to be like them, until their glares got under my skin.
One thing all of the girls with boyfriends had in common was their looks. They all looked like over-sexualized Barbie dolls, and boys would gawk at them. They got all the attention, and I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Was my hair too frizzy? Was I too fat? I concluded that I was simply ugly, repulsive – no wonder no boy wanted me. Starting in seventh grade I decided to try and fit in. I would spend two hours every morning straightening my hair and doing my makeup, trying to look perfect. I documented my weight thoroughly, though I was only in the sixtieth percentile for my age, not overweight by any means. I would cry in my bathroom for hours because of my acne, and picked my face obsessively, trying to peel away my ugliness. But nothing worked back them; I was still ignored and forgotten, invisible. By the end of eighth grade I gave up, accepting that I was not beautiful enough to make any boy look twice at me. I changed from an outgoing kid to a shy wilting flower. I was convinced everything that came out of my mouth was stupid, obviously, since no one liked me, so I stopped talking all together. By the beginning of high school I was completely different from the boisterous child I was only a few years earlier.

Though I was discouraged, I decided to turn a new leaf in high school. I tried different techniques to try and change who I was, always hoping that maybe something would work. I joined school sports, lost 15 pounds, bought new clothes, and learned how to do my makeup and hair. Like magic, people began to talk to me, attention I never got before. Though it was nice to be recognized, I knew they only noticed me now because I looked more appealing. I never forgot how they ignored me only a few months before, the long lasting scars that may never heal. Even now, after almost four years of being together, I still can’t look my boyfriend straight in the eye when he tells me I’m beautiful. Because I still don’t believe him. All the years I was invisible because I wasn’t pretty enough, talkative enough, popular enough, still haunt me. I now see my little sister going through the same emotional rollercoaster I was forced to ride, and I hate it. I see the pain I felt whenever I look at her, so depressed and convinced she is hideous because no guy wants her, people calling her names behind her back. I tell her to ignore them because it is what’s on the inside that counts… right?

In general, people preach about finding “inner beauty” and accepting and loving yourself for the way you are. But is that really how it works? Inner beauty is great in concept, but sometimes people aren’t interested enough in the way you look and present yourself to bother seeing that inner beauty. And the media and entertainment centers of today do not help the cause. Companies like Dove are beginning to use full figured models, but I would say the majority still use the skinny twigs, photo shopped to perfection. Though I never went to extremes such as bulimia, anorexia or depression, there are many girls like me out there who suffer from emotional scarring, feeling inadequate compared to the ideal body type shown in advertisements. All day people are bombarded by ads showcasing beautiful, perfect models, and in reality, people don’t look like that. Also, much of the music the younger generation listens to is rap and hip hop, all about sex and related topics. Preadolescent kids should not be worrying about these issues; this shift in behavior has poisoned what it means to be a kid. Now girls have to worry about mature things, like having perfect bodies and knowing everything about sex, at the most difficult stage of their youth, when they are searching for their identity. Girls who do not meet the standard fall behind and are forgotten. For those who don’t get lucky with looks and popularity, like me, it is a lot to handle at that stage of development because we feel unwanted, and that has lasting effects on our self-esteem.

Instead of preaching that inner beauty is the most important thing, we need to live in a way that reflects that idea, because saying it will not magically make everything better. We need to change as a community, and really stop focusing on looks and stop being judgmental about outer beauty, because it does not reflect what is on the inside. Though not everyone is anything special to look at, we still have a voice and are unique. We are tired of being swept under the rug.