Sam writes on the difference that having words for a feeling can make.
For a long time, I couldn’t place why — I just felt ugly.
And not just in the insecure way, but in the something-is-so-wrong-but-I-can’t-place-what way.
No matter what I did, or how often my friends reassured me, nothing seemed to change the fact that something didn’t feel right when I looked in the mirror. And no one seemed to see it but me.
As someone assumed to be a girl, I figured that hating how I looked was a rite of passage. I could never articulate what I didn’t like, though. It wasn’t my nose, or my lips, or my teeth.
When people asked, I helplessly explained, “I don’t know, I’m just ugly.”
When I look at old pictures of myself, though, I start to understand. For one, it doesn’t even look like me.
It wasn’t that I was ugly, so much as I didn’t look like myself. But not…
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