Growing up, I hated the color pink.

I also hated frills, flowery prints, and glitter, but I especially hated the color pink.

I recall eagerly waiting to leave shopping centers while my mother held article after article of clothing before me. “Hold this up,” she would say, pushing the garment into my hands. “I want to see how this looks.” And I would comply, but all along, scream internally.

This would continue on until finally, she would ask for my opinion. “Do you like this?” She inquired. “I’m not going to buy you something you’re not going to wear.” It was at that very moment where I would glance down at a top or pair of bottoms, and with furrowed eyebrows and a pouted lip, say the words I knew would draw the rubbing of temples, moreover, another hour of searching.

“Mama, it’s pink.”

I never understood why she would ask for my input when she knew what the answer was. If I were to take a guess, I’d say that she may have believed I would eventually outgrow my defiance. I had many phases, some that I’m not exactly proud of, but they were all as fleeting as a shooting star. However, it was more than my outward appearance that had changed when I entered high school and started experiencing new feelings like infatuation, passion—adolescent love.

I had many crushes, but the ones that pulled my heart-strings the most often overlooked me if they were even aware of my existence. The rejection left me feeling extremely hurt and unattractive. Living in a predominately white community also did a number on my self-esteem, but there were characteristics I noticed to be universally admired. If I really wanted to win the affections of the boy that I liked, I would have to condemn myself to be softer, quieter, and delicate—much like a flower, a pretty pink flower. I would become so pretty, I thought, and once I was pretty, I was worthy of being plucked.

Before I knew it, I was paying closer attention to my appearance than ever before. I spent nights scrutinizing myself before bed and part of the reason I was late to class nearly every morning was because I spent hours in the mirror ensuring that I looked good enough, and it worked for the most part. My luck with love was still a little shaky, but I was gaining the attention I thought I deserved. The fixation with my appearance only became worse as the years passed, and eventually how I looked played such an incredible importance to me that whenever I did receive a compliment, it just made my ego swell more.

Eventually, I even began judging others based off how they presented themselves and took enjoyment out of it. "Shallow, much?", "You're so vain!" I heard it all. My peers would also joke about how over-dressed I would be for gatherings, and were usually the first to express their shock upon seeing me on my off days. One time a girl asked what was wrong with me when I told her I wanted to be "the most beautiful person in the world." I missed an entire game of mini golf while vacationing with friends because I felt like it was necessary to curl, and re-curl, my hair. I had shamefully told my best friend once that I was the better looking one—and meant it. These are only a few examples of how far my obsession has gone.

So when did it stop? To put it simply, I grew up.

If you never knew, I’m telling you now: insecurity is exhausting. I lived a life consumed with thoughts of what everyone else was thinking about me, so I dressed myself up in trendy clothes, expensive make-up, and so-called effortless hairstyles. But all of that was merely a cover to prevent others from seeing how I truly felt inside.

I never hated the color pink, I hated myself. I became so paralyzed with fear of not being accepted, that I allowed myself to be put into a box. Since that realization, I have been cutting down a lot of my old practices and habits, along with constantly reminding myself of a few mantras.

1. Not everyone is meant to be beautiful

Enter a perfect world where every person was the epitome of beauty. Literally, everyone. Not a single flaw in sight.

Now think, how boring is that?

Not everyone can be beautiful, just like not everyone can speak clearly with confidence, or paint a landscape, or play an instrument, or know the difference between "your" and "you're." You may not be beautiful, but you are valuable, interesting, and worth loving. So let go of "beautiful." It has become an ugly word, anyway.

2. There is an infinite variety of womanhood

Ever notice in western mass media, women are practically all the same? Personality wise, they're sensitive, nurturing, and sweet; appearance wise, they're thin, long-haired, and pretty. Despite of what society says, femininity is not conditioned to a certain standard. A female who celebrates her womanliness with make-up and heels can still have characteristics, or certain jobs, that may enable others to see her as less than a woman, but the truth is that she is still a woman. There exists an infinite variety of womanhood in our world, and we are all on the same road to self-love and discovery. Embrace it, sister.

3. Live more in the moment

A mind trying to validate something is always stuck in the past. Think about it. If I weren't so concerned about my past feelings of rejection, would I have taken time out to prove that I was beautiful and worthy of love? Why did I have to show that I was these things, why couldn't I already just be? Stop trying to verify yourself to others and go out to enjoy the happiness you would've had all along.

In the end, my fear had turned me into a person I never wanted to be, and it has not only hurt myself, but as well as my relationship with others. As I move further into the future, it's my hope that I can be a woman whose confidence stems from understanding who I am as an individual, and accepting that person. As for now, I won't say that I'm the most self-loving, but there are days that I can finally walk out the house without bashing myself, and that's a wonderful feeling.