“Your hair is weird,” blurted one of my second-grade classmates. The skin on my cheeks grew warm as I held up a hand past my olive brown skin to my long golden-brown hair that cascaded down my spine in soft ringlets. I failed to stop the tears that welled up in my eyes. Most girls my age wore silky pin-straight hair. Here I was, being teased, actually persecuted, for my uniqueness.
On that day, the hours I waited to go home felt like decades. After such a devastating day, triggered by one young girl’s comment, all I wanted to do was crawl into the comfort of my bed. I wanted to sink my sorrows down deep, to forget the entire episode. As I raced to my room, truly anticipating a mental rest and recharge, I noticed a picture frame on my bedside table of me. I stopped abruptly and began to sniffle and then weep. The girl in the picture was “weird” for a beautiful characteristic I couldn’t yet recognize. A feature so minuscule that no one probably even noticed. Yet, it was played up so much in my head. My hair was a detail that set me apart from everyone else. As a result, I felt completely alone. Like no one in the entire universe was like me. That lonely feeling was the worst thing I had experienced in my young life.
This lone incident began a constant stream of discomfort, anxiety, and a shameful view of my appearance that would remain with me for years to come.
It started in second grade with a single comment by a classmate.
As I grew up, the only thing I took pride in was my singing voice. I loved filling my days scouring my CD collection filled with my favorite hit songs. I would create my own vocal masterpieces playing these songs on repeat and singing them over and over, perfecting my talent. Singing soon became more than a hobby. Singing was my constant. When I felt the most uncomfortable in my skin, my voice made that feeling diminish. The confidence I lacked physically would soon grow as my skills reached new heights. The gift of song truly helped me through my toughest times when I couldn’t yet express emotions in any other way.
One day, a light turned on and that girl who felt so uncomfortable in her skin developed into the woman I am today. I deeply regret feeling so self-conscious at such a young age. Now, I look at old pictures of myself and smile because nothing was more beautiful than my long golden-brown hair that cascaded past my olive brown skin and down my spine in soft ringlets.
