Two years ago, you wouldn’t have caught me outside of the house without makeup on for anything. It didn’t matter if I was going to be late for class, if I needed to meet someone in a few minutes or even if I was headed to the gym, I had to put makeup on. A large part of this was the simple fact that you didn’t have to look much further than the Sephora Vogue card in my wallet or the almost weekly makeup store charges to my credit card to see that I loved not only wearing makeup but having fun with it. But a larger, more personal reason was this: I didn’t feel beautiful without makeup on.

Perhaps a part of this had to do with teenage hormones and the general lowering of self-esteem that tends to happen between the years of 12 and 17. Or maybe it had to do with all my friends wearing large amounts of makeup at that age. Wanting to fit in, I followed in their footsteps. Truthfully, however, I think my almost-obsessive need for makeup had to do with people telling me how pretty I looked wearing all that makeup.

Somewhere subconsciously, my mind associated their praise and love with the makeup I had on my face. The more I wore, the more I was adored. When I wore less, I was asked if I was okay, if I was sick or if I had gotten enough sleep the night before. To me, and to the people around me, less was not prettier, more was.

But I had to take it off at some point, and when I did, I hated what I saw. I would look in the mirror and ask why I couldn’t be prettier. Why I couldn’t change this or that about myself so that maybe, just maybe, I would get the attention she got, or get the boy she had. My self-loathing eventually dragged itself into my full-face of makeup routine. Going into the bathroom makeup bag in hand, I disliked what I saw in the mirror during the day almost as much as I disliked what I saw at night.

Around this time of perfectly curled eyelashes and perfectly curled hair, my dad started something that has since changed my life. Coming downstairs for breakfast or working on homework in the living room, he would come up to me, look at me and say “Caroline, you are so much prettier without makeup on.”

Every day I heard that. When I disliked myself the most, I heard that. When I wished I could be prettier the most, I heard that. It took a long time, but one consistent person in my life changed my entire outlook on myself. Slowly, my self-loathing turned into self-love. I didn’t need to always do my hair, but instead, I began to embrace the unruly curls or more often than that, the bedhead tangles. I opted for the makeup-less look over the smoky eyes, for light brown eyeliner instead of heavy black. I stopped spending half an hour looking for the perfect outfit. Mostly, I stopped trying so hard for other people’s love and instead, worked for love of my own raw self.

We need to start telling our young girls, women, friends, family members and strangers on the street how beautiful they are without the makeup on. We need to accept and love the person underneath the foundation and fake eyelashes, embracing their uneven skin tone, perfect skin tone, brown eyes or blue eyes, acne or clean complexion. We need to love the long eyelashes as much as the short eyelashes, the prominent cheekbones and the double chin. We need to love what’s underneath as much as we love the makeup above.

Makeup is wonderful. I still love taking the time to invest in myself in the morning and having people compliment me with all the makeup on. But what I think is even more wonderful is the sheer fact that I don’t need it anymore. I don’t need makeup to make me think that I’m beautiful. I don’t need foundation to think that I have pretty skin or mascara to think that my eyes are something special. I love the skin I’m in — all because one person made me believe that I could be pretty just as me.