Am I beautiful? Am I ugly? Am I fat, or am I too skinny? What am I?  That is an ongoing debate that never seems to end. Body insecurity is a ghost that haunts me.  Will it ever go away? All the imperfections on my body are just constant reminders that I am not good enough.  My face is different than your face.

I never really cared about my body until 8th grade.  I went to a tiny, tiny Catholic school my whole life.  Everyday, I wore the same ugly skirt that went to my knees, and the dull, gray polo that was my brother’s hand-me-down.  No one cared about their body image since we were surrounded by the same people from Kindergarten to 8th grade. Box-body? No problem.  I didn’t even know curves were a thing until I went to highschool.

 When I got to highschool, my first time being at a large public school, I was overjoyed about never having to wear a uniform again.  No more strict dress code! Everyday, I wore a different outfit in which I wasn’t afraid to show my shoulders or wear shorts that were more than 2 inches above the knee.  The weeks started to pass, and then the words started getting to me. I was beginning to be called flat, skinny, and ugly. Whenever I got home, I would look in the mirror and think, “They’re right.”  I didn’t have curves. I was flat. I was barely over 100 pounds. It was like every time I looked into the mirror, I found something that I hated about myself.

My mom has the most flawless skin you’ll ever see; it’s like she’s glowing all the time.  I constantly compare myself to her. I am an overthinker. I care too much about what people think, and I am self conscious about everything.  Rapid thoughts fill my brain constantly. One day, I examined my body to see what other people see. That was a bad decision. Scars. Bruises.  Stretchmarks. Bumps. Everything that I didn’t want to see, I saw. Guess I inherited my dad’s genes.

I love working out.  Ever since I was little, I have pretty much always been active.  This summer especially, I started to become happy with the results I have been getting.  My heavy loads of schoolwork haven’t allowed me to work out as much as I would like, but I still keep up every now and then.  Today, I am slowly but surely beginning to love and accept my body. In an app where you can submit anonymous confessions, one person wrote, “I think freckles, stretch marks, tattoos, bruises, birthmarks, and scars are the coolest thing ever.  You started with almost a blank canvas. Look at you now. All this evidence that you’ve lived.” After thinking this over, I realized that our bodies are a beautiful thing. Everyone is different and beautiful in our own special ways. Sometimes, I still struggle with my body image, but I’m getting better and better at brushing my negative thoughts away.  I’m so proud of how far I’ve come in the past year. I may not look like the women we see in magazines, but I do look like me. My face is different than your face.