When I was about 12 years old, I realized that I was a bit hairier than other girls. It was the first day of school, and it was incredibly hot. I decided to wear shorts that day. That was when I learned that I was different.
It was a rough day for me, and it only continued to get worse throughout the year. After people saw how hairy my legs were, boys and girls made sure to inform me about my hairiness.
My legs were hairy, along with my arms. I had a small mustache on my upper lip and a few strands of hair on my chin. I had a few popping out of my chest, and my back was a thin coat. Needless to say, I was 100 percent hairy.
I remember crying one night because a bunch of girls brought razors to school so I can “fix my problem.” I didn’t think it was a problem, but everyone else did. They came up to me and pointed at my face.
“Eww. You’re really hairy. Are you trying to be a man,” one of them asked. “Because only boys have those. Girls don’t have mustaches… Unless you’re really a boy.”
I ran to the bathroom and stared into the mirror and felt myself break. Clearly I was a girl, but to others, I appeared “manly” because of my hair. That was when I asked my mom if I could shave.
She, at first, didn’t allow it because she didn’t start shaving until she was older. I went to my dad instead and told him I was having a hard time with people at school. He talked to my mom, and after three razors, I had smooth legs and arms. But it didn’t stop there.
As I got older, my “problem” seemed to get worse. It didn’t matter if I shaved my arms and legs every day. I couldn’t shave my back and my shoulders because I couldn’t reach. This was problematic when those areas showed. People would look and sometimes I could hear the comments. “Eww, that’s gross,” or, “That’s really disgusting.”
High school is ugly, for anyone. For me, it was twice as rough. It didn’t help that I wrestled because people really thought I was “manly.” There were rumors I took steroids, or that I was secretly a man. It was ugly and I was so ashamed of my body. I felt that no matter what I did to physically make myself pretty, my body hair shadowed my beauty.
It wasn’t until college where I truly started to feel more confident about my body. Of course, I still had my doubts every now and then. I still wrestled and that required weighing myself regularly. After practice, I would strip myself naked in the locker room and weigh myself. I could feel their eyes on my hair, but at that point, I was used to it. Every now and then, I would hear comments.
But it wasn’t until my current boyfriend didn’t criticize my body hair. The first time he saw me, he didn’t look disgusted. Instead, he smiled and said something so comforting to me.
“I like it,” he said. “It’s cute. It makes you unique.” He as the first boy not to be disgusted. Instead, he helped me. He helped pluck the strands of hair I couldn’t pluck from my chin or help spot the patches I’d miss from shaving.
I was comfortable around him, but I still didn’t feel comfortable with facial hair. But for the first time, he didn’t make me feel like it was a problem. Because it’s not a problem. It’s normal.
Now, I embrace my flaws. I'm not ashamed to wear a bikini in public anymore nor wear strapless shirts and dresses. I've learned that other's opinions don't matter. Their thoughts don't shape me, nor do they define me. I define myself. Yes, I'm a hairy girl, but I know I am so much more than that. I am beautiful even with all of my unusual flaws.
After years of criticizing myself, I started to learn that other girls are just as hairy as me. I had to learn to love myself. Being hairy doesn’t make you a freak. It isn’t a problem, and it’s completely normal. People will criticize, no matter what. If it isn’t your hair, it’s your weight. If it isn’t your weight, it’s your butt. Needless to say is people will always judge.
Don’t be ashamed of your body. Instead, accept it. Embrace your unique body.
