"It's your fault you're fat."

Most of my childhood I was very skinny, healthy and athletic. Then two weeks after I turned ten, I developed type one diabetes. With type one, your pancreas no longer works, and you become insulin dependent. There is also a slight chance of developing Celiac Disease, which I did. You can also gain a lot of weight, which I did. And the Celiac made me swell up even more. 

In 7th grade, I was on my school's track team. One day at practice, one of my bullies looked me in the eyes and said, "It's your fault you're fat. You ate all that sugar."

It was true that I had gained a lot of weight, but just the way he said it made me want to go cry in a corner. That was the first time I ever really began to notice how I actually looked, and I've cared ever since.

"It's your fault," I tell myself every time I even look at sugary food, even though I am the "perfect" weight for my height, even though I have someone to hold me close every night who swears he loves me every single day, who has given me a beautiful child. I still believe that it's my fault that I developed type one diabetes, even though it had nothing to do with me personally; my pancreas just decided to stop working, and it hasn't in years. 

I doubt that my bully ever thinks about making this comment, but I hope he has grown up to realize that there are some things we simply cannot control, and I hope he uses that knowledge before he speaks of things he doesn't know.
 

"I wouldn't change a thing."

It was Indian Summer on the coast five years ago. I was in my boyfriend's room, sprawled on his bed, twisting his hair. He was pouring his heart out to me, telling me why he loved me so much. 

I have genetic health problems that leave me in pain and incapable of doing all the things we once did together. Our weekend hikes and our sunny days spent combing the beach for hours, searching for the best shells and rocks had diminished. Our time together was spent indoors, doing low impact activities, like watching movie after movie or drawing together. It affected my self-esteem and sense of worth, but also made me feel insecure about where our relationship would go if I couldn't do the fun things we loved to do anymore. 

I was watching the dust motes swirl in the sunlight coming through the window, listening with a heavy heart to his proclamations of love.

I said there were things I wished I could change, and told him my degenerative health was something I think both of us would change if we could. He turned and looked me dead in the eye, and said something I'll never forget. 

"The struggles you've experienced with your health might not be the funnest or anything, but they've made you the amazing person you are today."

I thought about how there's no telling who I'd be without these problems. 

He lifted my chin so I'd stare him in the eyes.

"Nothing. I wouldn't change a thing."
 

"That nose is unforgivable."

When I was in middle school, LiveJournal was very popular. There were these pages called Rating Communities, where people submitted photos of themselves to be rated, and the people who had already been admitted to the group voted yes or no on whether or not you were hot enough to then join the group to rate other people.

(Actually writing this for the first time makes me feel really sad for myself, because I realize now that it's such a pathetic and horrible premise. But as a shy preteen with a new digital camera, being accepted into one of these communities was all I wanted.)

The first time I got up the courage to submit my pictures, I was giddy with anticipation. 

Then soon, one by one, the "no's" flooded in. 

And the "nose." 

By that I mean, not only did people simply reject me, but many of them added comments, saying things like:

"That nose!!!"

"That girl needs rhinoplasty!"

"I would have said yes, but that nose is unforgivable."

Until then I had never realized that there was anything wrong with my nose. I had never really paid much attention to it. I actually think I kind of liked it. But after that, I hated my nose. For years. Every time I met someone new, I thought about them reacting to my nose. 

At the time, I thought that I got what I deserved. I believed it was my fault for putting myself out there, and that I was rightfully put in my place. How dare I try to join a beauty community with such a horrible nose?

But now, more than a decade later, I finally feel different. I don't fault myself for putting myself out there, because I was young and I was seeking validation.

When I look in the mirror, I am honest-to-god not bothered by my nose. I don't think I ever truly was, until insecure strangers on the internet who were also seeking validation told me I ought to be. The truth is, I don't really pay much attention to my nose. I actually think I kind of like it.
 

My First Halter Top

I've struggled with my weight for my entire 28 years of life. I've gone through phases of being very overweight to losing nearly 75 lbs at one point after college. But since the age of 13, I've never managed to be thinner than a size 12. I was constantly teased for being the 'fat girl' in school, but during the summer of my 13th year, I was actually beginning to feel more comfortable in my new, more womanly body. My weight had distributed more evenly to my breasts and butt, I'd grown into my extremely large head, and I'd developed a nice golden brown tan that year from spending a lot of time at the pool at summer camp. 

I remember first seeing the halter top on the rack at K-Mart. It was a cotton spandex material with a built-in bra, and the colors were a mix of neon pink, blue, purple, and green. It looked like tops I'd seen my skinny friends wear. All the colors met in a starburst on the front of the shirt then shot out with iridescent sparkles throughout. "This is a really cool shirt," I thought to my 13-year-old self and showed it to my mother. My mom had me try it on and said it looked nice on me and that it wasn't too revealing for my age. Happy to see my recent self-confidence, she bought it for me to wear on our upcoming family vacation to Myrtle Beach, SC.

I remember being very nervous to wear the shirt in public. As much as I liked it, I'd never exposed that much of my back and shoulders outside of wearing a bathing suit. Even then, I was often known to swim with a t-shirt covering my swimsuit. Didn't only skinny girls get to wear those kind of shirts in public? That's what I'd thought for so long and I was losing my nerve to put it on. As our vacation drew to a close, it was our last night at the beach and my mom encouraged me to put on my "new pretty shirt" for our last dinner out as a family. 

I got myself ready, pairing the shirt with a denim skirt, sandals, sparkly lipgloss, and a tiny bit of blush and mascara I borrowed from my mom. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, "I actually look kind of normal!" I felt pretty. My tanned skin glowed golden brown and my light brown hair had lightened with the saltwater and sun. My dad also commented how grown up I looked in the shirt, wondering where his little girl had gone. 

We headed to dinner and I climbed into the back of our Ford Thunderbird. On our way to the restaurant, we drove down the Myrtle Beach strip. I sat behind my dad in the driver's seat and watched the cars come toward us on the opposite side of the road, some filled with families like ours and some filled with obnoxious college kids on summer vacation, drunkenly dancing in the car. 

We ended up sitting in slow moving traffic for some time. I looked to my left and saw a handsome young blonde guy, driving a black pickup truck, coming toward us. His friend was in the truck with him and as our car passed his, I looked up at him. Our eyes met for just a second and my first instinct was to smile at him. 

I smiled at a cute guy in my new halter top, full of confidence. A woman unleashed. 
But what happened next would shape the way I felt about myself, and how I thought men viewed me, for quite some time after. 

When I smiled at him, he looked down at me from his truck, and even though our windows were rolled up to preserve the air conditioning, I watched him mouth these exact words down at me, "Don't you smile at me, you fat bitch!"

As he drove away, laughing with his friend, I felt so exposed and wanted to be wearing anything but my new halter top. 

My parents were deep in conversation and had not seen the boy make fun of me, and I was too embarrassed to bring it to their attention. 

As we pulled up to the restaurant, I didn't want to get out of the car. I spent all of dinner upset, barely touching my food, and self conscious that everyone was staring at the fat girl in the shirt she shouldn't be wearing.

It would be several years before I had the courage to wear another halter top or something similar in public. The shirt I once loved so much, laid shining in the bottom of my dresser, until one day I finally threw it out. All because some stupid college guy on vacation decided to make fun of a 13-year-old girl coming into her own. 

To this day, I think of him when I wear something that makes my upper body feel exposed.
 

Dumb Blonde

I have been told for years that I am just a dumb blonde with a big chest. That I will never go far in my life and that no one will take me seriously. 

Sadly that's still how people see me. 

I'm actually very smart.
 

"You look like a boy from behind."

When I was 11 years old, I hit puberty. I got taller and thinner overnight. I developed faster than the other girls, and they all made fun of me for it. 

I came home crying about it to my parents and they told me to laugh it off. 

Over the next few months I became even thinner. I was a stick. 

My stepmom and my dad told me, "You look like a boy from behind," because of my lack of curves. They continued telling me this for years. 

I'm 19 now and I still think about my "lack of curves" and how I "look like a boy from behind." 

I cant shake that.
 

Then, one day.

One day, when I was in the first grade, I was playing on the playground at school. I was never very outgoing and I didn't have a lot of friends. A second grade boy came over to me. He looked at me and said, "You aren't pretty." 

As a child, my first instinct was to say, "Yes I am! My momma told me I am!" 

With that, he quickly lashed out with, "Well, she lied." 

As I grew older, his words stuck with me. They took a bigger toll on my self confidence than I would like to admit. Something so seemingly small that happened to me as a child in the first grade impacted me for the next ten years. 

Then, one day when I was a camp counselor, I met a boy who told me he loved me. I thought I was sitting among the stars. No one outside of my family had ever told me they loved me before. For the first time since first grade, I felt like I was pretty enough. Like I was wanted.

Time went on and so did the relationship. Then one day, he spoke four words that cut me deep. "I don't love you."

I felt unwanted, unlovable. I was depressed for the longest time. 

Eventually I figured out how to enjoy just being me. I loved being myself again.

Then, one day, I met an amazing man with a great personality, and equally great looks. I was a second semester freshman in college. I quickly learned about him: his past, his family, his likes and dislikes, his dreams. He made me feel loved, wanted, and important. I loved him more than I ever thought I could love someone. And for the first time in a while, I knew I was good enough. Life seemed to fall into place. We talked about marriage, children, and growing old together. 

Then, one day as we were Skyping, he dropped his head in silence. Then he uttered the words I thought he would never say. "I don't think we're going to work. I don't love you". 

I was more than devastated. I was so heartbroken, I couldn't even cry. It was almost like my heart broke into two pieces, and then a million more. I could feel my heart shatter like glass in my chest. 

Days went by and I tried to hide the pain, but the nights were long. Often times I cried myself to sleep, other times I fell asleep from the pure exhaustion of crying so hard the night before. 

Weeks went by and I still missed him, but the tears stopped. Slowly but surely, I started to be me again. 

With the help of my best friend, I realized I was depending too much on others making me happy, that I had forgotten how to make myself happy. 

Now I am happily single. I enjoy every day. I'm going to take life by the horns. I'm going to keep knowing that I am pretty, I am wanted, and I am loved. 

Then, one day, I'll get make someone else feel the same way.

"You'll never pass as a normal woman."

I'm transgender. 

When I came out to my mother, her only response was that I had to be more careful not to get murdered, because I'll "never pass as a normal woman."
 

Witch Nose

"Your nose makes you look like a witch, but I'd still date you."

This comment launched the start of what is still to this day my biggest insecurity.

Connect the Dots

In second grade, there was one kid who always picked on me. He called me lots of names and said lots of mean things to me all year, but the one thing that stuck with me the most was when he said, "Let's play connect the dots, and you're it!"

Kids can be so cruel. I couldn't help that I had freckles!

I'm 31 years old now, and I love all of me. I try not to let anyone's opinion bother me, but I still remember the way that kid made me feel all those years ago.