When I was a little girl, I was always the center of attention. I had light blue eyes and platinum blonde hair and people couldn’t help but stop my parents to tell me how beautiful I was. As I got older, my blonde hair turned a mousey shade of brown, my dimpled chin seemed to recede, and my button nose turned into an ugly prominent feature. The genetic hammer came down on me hard and swift, and the cute little girl I once was disappeared. I’m not good looking by society’s standards and I’ve learned to live with it, but sometimes the harsh realities that come with being the “ugly one” in the group hit me when I least expect it.
- I can literally feel people’s eyes skip over me. The memory is fuzzy, but I remember what it felt like to be admired for my looks. Total strangers would smile at me and it made me feel warm and giddy. People don’t look at me that way anymore. I see the way men check out my beautiful girlfriends, how their eyes linger just a little bit longer on their faces. When my eyes meet another man’s gaze, the moment never lasts. I was just an obstacle standing in the way of his next piece of eye candy.
- I’m typically the group photographer. I’m not a big fan of selfies or photos in general. I prefer to be on the other side of the lens. I love spending time with my gorgeous gal pals, and I’m happy to capture beautiful moments for them.
- I’m never the one to get a free drink. There’s one thing that I know for sure: I’ll always be the one to pick up my own tab. One time I was out with my girlfriends at a bar. We sort of merged our little group with another group of guys we had met and suddenly they were passing around shot glasses. Everyone got one, except for me. Sometimes my bland look literally makes me invisible to other people, it’s something I’ve just come to accept.
- Social media is a constant source of stress. I have a small panic attack any time a notification on my phone pops up indicating that I’ve been tagged in a photo on Facebook. It might sound ridiculous to some, but my looks are a serious trigger for my lack of self-confidence. Not a lot can wreck my day quite like a picture of my ridiculous profile.
- I’m always one of the leftovers on the dance floor. When my friends and I are out dancing, I’m never the one guys approach first for a dance. After all the pretty ones are taken, I’ll get pushed together with the last partner-less guy in the group. I can’t help but wonder how many girls turned him down before he finally settled on me.
- People expect me to be the funny one. I’ve developed a wry sense of humor over the years. Guys that take a moment to actually listen to what I have to say typically appreciate it. Sometimes, though, I don’t feel like being anyone’s source of entertainment. I know I’m funny, but I wish I didn’t have to put on a song and dance for people to notice me.
- I don’t trust anyone that acts too interested. My mother always jokes that I’ve been plagued with a hyper sense of self-awareness. She’s absolutely right about that. For that reason, I can’t help but be wary when a guy goes out of his way to talk to me. It’s a rare occurrence and I’m always convinced there’s an angle.
- My guy friends constantly ask me about my pretty friends. I’ve never been the type of girl that needs to concern herself with the consequences of having a friend with benefits. My dude friends are strictly platonic, and that’s fine with me! There are times that I wish they’d stop bugging me about my girlfriends and their current relationship statuses. I always get a pang of jealousy knowing that there’s no one out there asking questions like that about me.
- I constantly feel like I’m trying too hard. When I go to a girlfriend’s house before a night out to “get glam,” or attempt my version of it, I always feel like a fraud. When I slip into a beautiful dress and a strappy pair of heels, I feel like a little girl playing dress-up in her mom’s closet. I’m never in the moment because I’m longing for a time when I felt good in my skin.
- I want to change. If I had a dollar for every time someone told me “looks aren’t everything” or “beauty fades with age,” I’d have enough money to buy a new face by now. I know my insecurities are much deeper than my issues with my exterior, and I am trying my best to address that. My looks will never hook a man or turn a head, but I’m so much more than the size of my nose or the volume of my hair. The reality is I’m stuck with me for life and it’s probably time that I start treating myself with the love I deserve.
