"It's winter!!!"

When I was in 7th grade, I bought a new white miniskirt and couldn't wait to wear it to school. It was the middle of February, but I knew that people still wore skirts in the winter, as long as they were wearing tights.

When I showed up to school, my then-best friend waited for me at the top of the stairs to judge my outfit, like she did every day. She took one look at my short skirt and shouted, "What's wrong with you?! It's winter!" Then everyone looked at me and pointed out how crazy I was for wearing a skirt in February. 

She made sure I didn't forget my foolish decision all day long. Every time we passed each other in the hall, she would scream, "It's WINTER!!!" to me. This drove me crazy, because even if my choice to wear a skirt in February wasn't the wisest decision on my part, there was nothing she could say to change the fact that I was already at school in this outfit. It's not like if she said it extra-convincingly, my skirt would magically transform itself into long-johns and jeans. I was stuck at school in this tiny skirt, and her constant vocal protest of my outfit made me feel naked and exposed and trapped. 

She was a very unsupportive friend in general, and I am happy to say that we are no longer friends.

8th Grade Dance

When I was in junior high, I was overweight and spent most of the school dances alone, in the corner. 

The last dance of 8th grade, the school hired a DJ who would dedicate songs to couples, and they would go to the floor and slow dance together. Imagine my surprise when the DJ announced the next slow song dedicated to me, by one of the most popular boys in school! We danced together, and I felt so special. 

After the dance was over, I returned to my dark corner where I overheard the DJ talking about a group of pranksters who were dedicating slow songs to all the fat/ugly/unpopular girls, so the popular boys had to dance with them. 

I have never been so humiliated.

15 years latter I have thankfully left behind my ugly duckling phase. That particular popular boy is now bald and short. But still, I don't think my self-esteem will ever recover from such mortification.
 

Black and White

I had a huge crush on a guy in 8th grade, and was devastated when he started going out with this girl I hated. 

I came home crying about it, and my mom just said, "Did you really think he would have picked you over her?" 

She said this because he was white, I was black, and the other girl was white. It was like I never had a chance because of that.

To this day, I still have doubts about myself when I find a white guy attractive.
 

"It looks like you have a spray tan!"

The first time I ever wore makeup was when I used my mom's foundation in middle school.

When I walked into class, one of the other girls pointed at me and said, "It looks like you have a spray tan, but only on your face!"

Now I'm a cosmetologist.

"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.
 

"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.
 

"Damn waterfall!"

I feel this story is a little silly, but it did really affect me when it happened.

I've dealt with bullying from preschool straight through high school. By my sophomore year, I thought I'd convinced myself that nothing else could hurt me, that I've heard it all.

I was in a club meeting after school and I wasn't really feeling it. I stepped out to use the bathroom. 

The halls were quiet and the bathroom was empty. Then some girls came in after I started going, and one of them yelled, "Damn waterfall!" The girls laughed loudly and left.

I didn't see them, and they didn't see me, but it really bothered me for some reason. 

I've had a very shy bladder for about 5 years after. 

It's the same feeling people get when they're eating chips, like they're chewing too loudly, even if it's not actually bothering anyone.
 

"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.
 

"You're a mixed breed."

I am Caucasian, African American, Irish, and Native American. I have caramel light skin and extremely curly hair. So I always stuck out like a sore thumb.

When I was in school the question I always got was, "What are you mixed with?"

Once I got to middle school, it turned from genuine curiosity to physical and verbal abuse. 

People would drag me by my hair or spit gum in my hair, so I had to cut it. 

People said things to me like: 

"You're a mixed breed. A mutt."

"You have no place in this world."

"You need to go kill yourself. The world would be better off."

I guess you can say I'm a rebel or a loner now, but I'm turning twenty soon and this is something that has always still stuck with me. I could never shake it. 

Now I take a high pride in being biracial, but back then I could never understand why people didn't like me.