Do you know what it’s like to grow up in a place where no one is like you? To purposefully be made to feel out of place because of the way you look? Primary school was like being an ugly duckling raised in a flock of ordinary ducklings, and we all know how that story goes.
Only, not all of the ducklings were mean. Some were nice, others ambivalent or simply unaware, and some just plain mean. I remember the terrible things that were said and done to me.
Wouldn’t it be funny if we dragged her into the boy’s toilet?
They were people I did ballet with on Monday afternoons after school. Two were in the grade above me, and there may have been another person in my grade present, but I can’t say for sure. I don’t even remember how old I was, but I remember how they grabbed my arms and pulled me towards the bathroom.
No matter how much I struggled and protested, I wasn’t strong enough to fight off two (or three) people. But eventually, they stopped. They backed off when I started crying, citing that it was just a joke and told me not to tell anyone. They didn’t feel any remorse for hurting me. Their only concern was what would have happened if I tattled. No one was there for me.
Let’s run away from her.
In kindergarten, all my friends ran away from me. How many times have I told this story? I’d like to believe I was randomly singled out, but it felt deeply personal. It’s not all fun and games. I felt like a monster. No one stuck up for me.
You’re ugly, no offence.
This came from two South African girls. Both had blond hair and blue eyes—traits I desperately wanted because everyone considered them beautiful. I’d even considered one of them my primary school best friends. And what they said confused me.
Even before this incident, I remember being in kindergarten and looking at my reflection at after-school care. I saw myself and thought I was ugly, and any chance I’d get, I would make sure there was something between me and my reflection. And what they had said about me confirmed everything I thought about myself, and it hurt that other people also saw me in the same way.
Those words still haunt me and fuel my need for external validation. But even if I go fishing for a compliment and ask, “how do I look?” It’s a loaded question. No one will respond with, “wow, you look ugly”. Social etiquette almost guarantees you will receive an automatic compliment—therefore, it’s not genuine unless offered without prompt.
I’m ugly. Look away.
Once, I had the choice of removing my freckles in Korea. Growing up, I hated my freckles. In hindsight, I believe I came to terms with them at the time. Many friends have expressed fondness for my freckles, but I don’t understand it. Sometimes, they still feel like substantial imperfections.
All I see are flaws. Just look away.
I rarely look at myself in the mirror for very long. The longer my gaze rests on my face, the more defects I see. Cue special occasions like weddings when I need to put on make-up. More often than not, the self-loathing is there. I get frustrated when my face appears rounder than usual or when my foundation doesn’t sit well on my skin.
If I’m attending an event where I have attempted to dress up and seem agitated or in distress, it’s highly likely I don’t like how I look. And that thought affects everything. I wish I wasn’t this way, and things could be different. But I’m horrible at hiding my feelings, so I often just sour the mood. The alternative is to not show up at all because it’s the only solution that works.
It’s a lot easier for everyone if I disappear. No one needs to feel uncomfortable. Nobody needs to pretend they want me at their gatherings. I’m tired. I’ll always be the ugly duckling that doesn’t fit in—the one who was made fun of behind her back had information withheld from me and was purposely excluded.
It’s fair to say the world has taught me to hate who I am. My efforts to change weren’t enough. What good am I?
I’m moody, distrustful of people’s intentions, and easily upset by my appearance. I make people uncomfortable because I can’t pretend to be happy during happy moments and always bring the room down. And even when I work up the courage to be vulnerable during appropriate moments, I’m met with avoidance. Total absence of anyone.
It’s hard for me to believe people care when they run away at the first sign of distress. It’s hard to love myself when the world continues to tell me you’re not worthy. But God has been kind. In the past couple of weeks, He has brought old friends back into my life who have reminded me what it’s like to be loved and cared for.
It’s a special thing when someone gets angry on your behalf about how crappy you’re treating yourself and when others hurt you (intentionally or otherwise). And it’s a comforting thing when they show you you mean something to them. The late-night phone calls, spontaneous hangs just like uni days, and simply being excited to spend quality time together helped me remember God’s love.
It’s not as lonely as I remember. How much of this is in my head?
There have been days I’ve looked in the mirror and thought, I like myself today. And I’d like to think there have been more of those days.
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