I gave up on my dreams of modeling at ten years old.
I thought how glamorous it’d be to be seen through the lens of a camera and on the cover of magazines all without realizing the criticism that lingers in the background. The same criticism I received before ever trying to pursue such a career. It immediately redirected my dreams.
To this day, I still have troubled skin. I have scars and uneven skin tone and acne. I still have it after Proactiv and every drugstore product that claimed to help clear skin. I even resorted to taking Accutane (FOR NINE MONTHS) and having the worst experience with it. My body felt achy and tired. My face dried up. I shed skin like a snake. My arms, from wrist to elbow, were covered in a rash that scabbed and itched like crazy (for about three months they stayed like this). I felt even uglier for trying to correct the problem.
I couldn’t look people in the eyes. I avoided conversation. I didn’t laugh, afraid that my skin would look even worse than it already did. I felt intense self-loathing. Flashback to about grade five. I remember being bullied for something I couldn’t even comprehend. I heard just about every ugly name you can think of. Remember that fleeting crush you had all through your school years? Yeah? Well mine said, straight up, “I don’t want you, Pizza Face.” How the fuck do you think that impacted a thirteen year old girls mental image?
I became an extreme extrovert. Bought makeup with the little money I earned at the time. Watched countless tutorials on YouTube. I hid away in the retreat from myself. I thought I deserved less love. I thought I didn’t deserve any space. For my thoughts or kindness or presence. I didn’t think I deserved it. I felt that my skin determined my internal value. The value that my soul was sent with. GOD BLESS WAS I WRONG. The depths of my heart want to do spectacular, selfless things for this world and I’m not going to be road blocked by the skin that held me together.
When I really put it in perspective, I was ready to reduce my existence, lessen my life for the appearance of my skin. I was going to let this miracle of living drift by all because I couldn’t accept myself for what I am? Fuck no, I’m not. People are going to be rude and unkind to the things they’re too ignorant to comprehend. They’ll give harsh criticism where it’s not wanted because they, themselves, aren’t rooted. You are. I am. I’m a woman that loves myself as fuckin’ is. Others are scared because they don’t know how to love themselves so relentlessly. So, in retaliation, I’m gonna keep on loving myself just as I am.