Last night, I found myself doing what I typically do when I’m awake at that awkward time between late at night and early in the morning: thinking about my long journey through puberty. (Spoiler alert: I’m still hoping to hit a second wave of it so I can grow more; @God do your magic.) I like to do this because, honestly, who enjoys being happy when you can think about what you looked like during your pubescent years?
Why did I think a perm was a good idea? Why did I own not one, but six pairs of knee high rainbow socks? Why was I so insecure when it came to my body and what people thought about me?
That last question is the sole reason I’m writing this article. No, this is not the story of how little Kristen Wylie took off her glasses, learned how to apply foundation and suddenly everything was right in the world. If we’re being honest, here, I still don’t even know how to properly apply eyeliner at the ripe age of 20. I wanted to write this because I know what it’s like to be so insecure about myself that it’s almost impossible to function. I know what it’s like to look in the mirror and want to change everything about myself. I hope that this article can help other young whipper snappers who feel the same way that I did, and I hope this helps them develop an understanding of physical appearance and self worth.
Now, let’s travel back to a time that everyone tries to forget: junior high.
*cue emo/scene music*
Anyone who paid the slightest bit of attention to me in junior high would have seen that I constantly wore baggy clothes, and for the most part made fun of my own awkward features. I used humor to mask my insecurities with my friends every day. Then, every night I would come home and spend hours sitting in front of my Hello Kitty mirror, picking apart every single aspect that I hated about myself physically and mentally. Boys were mean to me (IMAGINE THAT), I was the first girl in my friend group to hit puberty and wear a training bra (spoiler alert: I still wear my training bra). I was so embarrassed about my body and the way it would betray me: I couldn’t wear gray shirts out of fear of armpit stains, I couldn’t wear tight jeans because I didn’t like the way my legs looked, I wouldn’t hang out with my friends because I thought I was annoying them, and I couldn’t wear short sleeve shirts because a boy once told me I had gorilla arms. I restricted myself from so many things, and I thought it was normal. I thought the insecurities I had were commonplace.
Why aren’t you thinner? Why don’t you have longer hair? Why aren’t you funnier? Why are you so gosh darn stupid? You’re friends don’t like you, that’s why you weren’t invited.
These thoughts would rattle through my head and wear me down to the point of exhaustion. I would spend so much time hating myself that I would cry myself to sleep. I didn’t know any better, and I didn’t talk to anyone about my self hatred because I thought it was typical. I grew up during the dark times of the early 2000’s: My Chemical Romance, bleached hair, and self harm. Everyone was self diagnosing themselves with mental illnesses and romanticizing these issues, but nobody had a real clue about what self love and confidence are.
What a time to be alive.
Back to my legacy: I continued this belittling of myself for years until my freshman year of college when I realized that I felt absolutely horrible every day. So I went to a doctor to try and figure out what the heck was wrong. Well, it doesn’t take a professional to see that clearly I couldn’t be happy because I was always so upset with myself. I hated myself more than anyone else ever could and I thought that was normal. Sitting in my doctor’s office, I realized that I have spent so much of my life taking in the opinions of others, I forgot to have my own opinion.
When I got home that night, I felt selfish because I put so much effort into hating myself. Adding that to the list of things I didn’t like about myself, I realized I needed to make a list of things that I liked about myself. So I sat at my kitchen table and tried to come up with at least five things that were great about being me.
I sat at my kitchen table for three days.
“And on the third day God told Kristen to cut the crap and be a better person” - A verse in Genesis that didn’t quite make the publishing cut.
I decided to stop caring so much about how I look and start caring about how I feel and help others. So what did I do? Well I shaved my head and donated all 16 inches of my hair to a nonprofit charity. Did people openly tell me they preferred girls with long hair and that I should have never cut my hair? Yes, and I won’t lie, it really did bother me; people cared more about my appearance than the donation. It was at that moment that I realized, most people’s opinions about you don’t even matter. I had spent so much of my life (10+ years) caring about what other people’s opinions were of me, that I forgot to care about myself. I did something that I thought was incredible, yet people were still finding ways to put me down, because the way I looked wasn’t “aesthetically pleasing” to them.
If there is only one piece of advice that you take from this article, let it be this: take care and treat yourself like you would a child. Feed yourself, treat yourself with respect, take naps, brush your teeth, and do things that make you happy. You wouldn’t tell a child that they’re ugly and stupid, so why would you do that to yourself? Would you let a child cry themselves to sleep or put themselves in danger? No, so don’t do that to yourself, silly.
Now don’t get me wrong, I still look in the mirror sometimes and I’m not particularly happy about what I see (this is usually when I wake up in the morning with hair standing on end and drool still dripping down my chin). That’s typical, because we can’t all be Jennifer Aniston, but I’ve come to appreciate parts of myself that aren’t physically represented. I guess the point that I’m trying to make here is that you can spend your whole life picking yourself apart about things that you lack, or you can spend your life appreciating the things you do have and help others.
Before I wrap this up, let’s get one thing clear: my thought process isn’t some fundamental failure on my parents' part, to those of you who are trying to blame my home life. I have a great life, great friends, and I am truly blessed. I just didn’t see myself as part of the blessing. I felt as if I was a “black sheep” of my family. I hope that if any of you feel anything less than wonderful about yourselves, you have people you can contact: a health professional, a family member, a friend, a guardian, or even me. Life shouldn’t be a struggle every day, so don’t let it become one. Mother Theresa didn't spend her time worrying about her thighs, she had things to do, and so do you.
