Boom boom, boom boom. I heard this over and over throughout my entire body as I awaited for my friend to answer my question through text message. I was feeling self-conscious that day, as with any other day, and I happened to be talking to this friend of mine, who also happened to be male. I thought, if anyone can make me feel better right now, he's the one. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"

My screen lights up, as I tap to see the much anticipated-and sometimes dreaded-conversation bubbles spring into animation. My stomach fell to my feet and I felt my ears burn as I read his response, "I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but no." I closed the conversation, hooked my phone to its charger, and fell asleep crying. This was three years ago.

My response shocked me, as this was something I had already known for quite some time. I wouldn't call myself ugly, but as someone who's been rejected more times than I would like to admit, I eventually started to wonder if I got the short end of the stick in the looks category.

It started in third grade, when I had a crush on one of the popular boys in my class. On one occasion I gave him candy hearts, with cute little "Be Mine" and "I Love You" messages written on them. I ran away from him and waited all day for him to declare his love for me. Instead, his friend crushed them in front of me in a different class, telling me, "He doesn't want you." My classmates laughed, as I threw the crumbles away.

In sixth grade, I texted a boy I liked that I wanted to go out with. I swear, my side ponytail dropped as he told me, "No, I'm sorry." Of course, my class found out about it, and I was ridiculed for months to follow. In yet another instance, I liked a boy who texted me that I was his favorite girl in the world, only to find out he had been using me to get to a friend.

This happened on numerous occasions, so I just accepted my new role as wingwoman. I didn't have my first kiss until I was 17, and I didn't have my first boyfriend until my senior year of high school. It wouldn't have bothered me so much, except the part where my classmates had been going to dances and getting cute love notes since circle time, while I looked enviously from the outside.

After high school, much like my life so far until very recently, things romantically went more or less the same way. I felt like I blended in more than I stood out. I felt like a chair. I was looked at, but not with interest. While other girls my age looked like angels that had dropped down from another realm, I vaguely resembled Meg from "Family Guy."

I never knew how to do my makeup, or my hair. I didn't have a nice shape. I brought nothing physically to the table. I craved attention, and I certainly got it, by being the butt of every joke, the target of many bullies, and the pity from the guys who rejected me. I watched TV shows, appalled by the characters who others fell in love with and couldn't let go, while I was so easy to by the few boyfriends I had. It took me a long time to figure out that I did bring something to the table, something perhaps more worthwhile than outward beauty. I had myself to bring.

I have the gift of being able to write what I'm feeling and portray it in such a way that people understand me. I can write quite well, and I'm an excellent reader. I'm intelligent, observant, and I eventually realized that someone who turned me down based on looks alone, never deserved me in the first place. I am not here to be beautiful. I am here to create beauty.

I deserved someone who understands that I will never look picture perfect just stepping out of the shower. Someone who would understand that I will never feel comfortable in skin tight dresses. Someone who saw my self harm scars and remembered that everyone goes through darkness in their life. Someone who saw me and fell in love with who I was, and who accepted what I went through to become her.

And a little under two years ago, my husband proved he deserved me. Every part of me. I know that when age takes its toll, my hair grays, and my eyes crinkle to see my husband's face, he will still be just as infatuated as he was when we met. I will hold his hand in my rocking chair and know that I lived a life as worthwhile as everyone else's, without the party invitations. I found my true love, and I'm beautiful to him. With him, I feel my beauty isn't in the eye of the beholder. It doesn't feel relative. It is a fact.

Now, he gets all my candy hearts, and eats them un-crushed.