"I don't like myself"

I've uttered that phrase thousands of times in the past few years. I would like to say it's in reference to my moral character or treatment of others. And even though those things are far from perfect, 99.9 percent of the time my use of this phrase is to describe my physical appearance. In a world with so much hate, poverty and struggle, my reflection in the mirror shouldn't be my greatest concern. But quite honestly, it almost always is.

Around the age of 12, my appearance became overwhelmingly important. This was around the time I began plastering my face with makeup, watching everything I ate and, worst of all, putting myself down. I became my biggest critic and my sense of reality (concerning my looks) slipped away. There was never a day I didn't find a flaw. The body I used to feel comfortable in - the one that loved to climb trees, run through sprinklers and jump in pools - became a constant sense of worry. I called myself fat, ugly or both on a daily basis. I shied away from mirrors and cameras, scared of seeing my own reflection.

What was possibly the worst side effect of my obsession with my looks was my constant need for comparison. My immediate thought among meeting someone was whether or not they were better looking than me. I surveyed rooms to see who was prettier or skinnier than me. I made lists in my head of who I wished I looked like, of what flaws I had that others didn't. When I deemed myself prettier than another, I felt a false sense of security. In truth, this comparison was actually only feeding the thing that made me so insecure in the first place: the need to be pretty.

See I've spent thousands of dollars and hours on trying to obtain this societal concept of "pretty." I've bought the most expensive makeup, tried weird diets and beat myself up for eating. And all the while, I was neglecting the other important areas of my self. I failed to see how much more than "pretty" I could be. I could be intelligent, hilarious or witty. I could be bold, courageous or successful. And yet all these traits still paled in comparison to pretty. I've spent the majority of my life believing that if I was pretty, I would be happy. That somehow being called pretty would be the magical cure for all of my insecurities. And to be frank, that sucks.

Our society puts an unbelievable amount of weight on looks. And the worst part is, we let it. I was the one calling myself fat, ugly and worthless. I was the one who decided to care more about appearance than anything else. And I was the one who looked in the mirror and stated "I don't like myself."

Now, I'm not writing this to explain how I got over caring about my looks. To be honest, I haven't. I still buy makeup, I still compare myself to others, I even still occasionally say "I don't like myself." No, I'm writing this to share my experience with self-image and to gain some clarity on the issue. I'm writing this to gain back a little bit of the person I do like, the one who is hoping to define herself by more than her looks. The one who would like to look in the mirror and say, "I love myself" for whole lot of reasons.