Chasing Beautiful Is Tiresome
the parts of ourselves we always hide
One day, a boy asked, “Why do you look different than your siblings?”
I was 7. I didn’t answer.
Because what do you even say to that?
From 7 to 17, my face felt like a stranger. Emotionless. People knocked on it like it was some locked steel door at a bank.
And when their fists got tired, they tried Plan B—calling me not-so-pretty names, thinking they’d break me open with enough tries.
My feet knew the drill: speed up before the ground swallows you whole.
To hide or not to hide—that became my daily question.
Hide it… and chase “normal.” Hoping for comments like: “If only your face was always like this, then you’d be…” Or show it—like it was just... whatever.
And for what? A word we barely ever stop to question—normal. Such a weird little thing, right? It changes all the time—depending on who’s looking, when they’re looking, and where. So when that becomes our worth? That’s where the danger starts.
Just like nature reflects God’s creativity, so do we—we’re different on purpose, not by mistake. Only if we’d just stop and look.
Think about hibiscus leaves. No two are the same—some are lobed, some oval. If one shape is more common, does that make the rest flawed? Of course not.
But when one version of beauty is more common, it becomes the standard we secretly chase. To feel worthy, we hide parts of ourselves that might stand out. Because we know our differences aren’t just noticed—they’re labeled as flaws.
I just wanted to be a normal little girl. The kind who doesn’t get picked on. Who walks into a room and no one stares. No whispering. No “accidental” touches. Just… safe.
But big rooms felt dangerous. Crowds? Unsafe.
So I made isolation my safe place. Covered my forehead just right. Walked head down. Shut down.
I was like a TV on mute for 8 hours—there, but not fully living. Just trying to survive girlhood as a Haitian-American teen. I convinced myself if I stayed invisible long enough, I could erase the target on my back.
But then it hit me—sure I could spend the rest of my life hiding my face. I would look a tiny bit more normal. But why should I? Every time I ask that question, I can’t find a good reason that isn’t about how I’m perceived. So I stopped. And for the past 3 years? I’ve chosen to say: “Bye, Felicia!!”
It may seem like it’s not a big deal—but let me give you an example. Why do you like what you like? Your favorite foods, your tastes? A big part of it is culture, upbringing, exposure. What we repeat forms what we believe.
Same here.
If I keep covering my face, what message am I sending to my brain? You need to hide to be enough.
And sometimes, hiding doesn't even feel like hiding—it feels like control. You think: if I adjust just enough, maybe I can control how others see me. Imagine you dress for approval: to feel beautiful, to feel worthy, to feel whole. Someone’s kind, and you think, "The formula worked." But did they like you—or the edited version of you?
And even then, you still lose—sacrificing your sense of self while your joy, your peace, and even your mental health quietly slip away over time.
That’s the trap. We believe we’re managing perception, but we’re really managing our own fear. And the more we try, the deeper we sink.
My routine? Walk in. Find a corner. See everything. Be seen by no one. In Haiti, I stayed seated. In the U.S., I hid in bathrooms or my guidance counselor’s office.
If I got bullied, I thought I deserved it. If I cried at home, I thought I failed.
But by no means was I weak though. They thought I was a doormat—but turns out, I was a banana peel.
The moment they thought they had the upper hand… cue the soundtrack: “oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no no no nooo.”
I yanked myself out from under them—perfect timing.
They’d say:
“Let me see your paper,”
(Translation: let me write word for word what you have, including the commas and periods.)
I was burned once before—and almost failed too.
So I said to myself, “Lynn, girl… we’re not playing this game anymore.”
I’d respond “no.” Of course, they didn’t listen.
Instead, they’d fake a stretch. Fix their uniforms. Lean just enough to peek. Not slick. Just bold.
I’d watch it all in the rearview mirror. And I thought—fine. You want to copy me? Cool.
But I had a system—especially back in Haiti. Classwork, quizzes and exams had to be in pen (blue ink only). Or professors wouldn't accept your work.
I wrote in pencil first. Then, when they announced: “five minutes left, everyone!”
They’d strut like a flamingo on a runway—confident for no reason. Turning their paper first.
And that was my moment: 1, 2, 3 action… I’d rewrite everything in pen. Erase everything that was with pencil.
They got the fake answers. I turned in the real ones. Technically, they copied me. But they still failed.
It was the pettiest act of self-protection. But it always worked. lol.
The truth is? Those tiny things we do to feel safe—they add up. And one little “let me just fix this”... can eventually become a lifestyle of hiding.
But we all know: hiding won’t bring us peace.
Besides God, the only guaranteed lifelong partner you’ll have… is you. So why treat yourself worse than strangers? Why let your mirror undo what God already called beautiful?
When we question “normal,” we don’t just free ourselves;
we love other people better. 🌟 We stop projecting beauty standards onto them. We don’t become the bully. And that stops the lie from repeating.
Hurt people hurt people. And sometimes? We’re both.
So if you’ve ever felt like you're not enough—like something about you had to be fixed before it could be called beautiful—same. I used to think if I stayed small enough, quiet enough, invisible enough…maybe I’d finally be “normal.”
Maybe I’d finally stop being the weird one. The girl people pointed at. Chuckled about. The one who got “accidentally” touched like I wasn’t human.
But hiding didn’t fix anything—it just made the lie more believable. And the lie? That who I am isn’t enough unless it’s edited.
But here’s what’s been hitting me lately: God didn’t make me to be palatable. He made me to reflect Him. And that includes the parts I’ve tried to erase.
My voice. My face. Even the pencil-before-pen version of me. So no, I don’t have it all figured out. But I’m done trying to disappear. And if you’re reading this and thinking, “Same…” Maybe today’s the day you let yourself be seen too.
Because truth is you were:
✨ never too much.
✨ never a mistake.
✨ never meant to blend in.
Heart Call:
If you’ve ever felt like you're not enough, like your reflection needed to change before you could be loved; So,
What’s one thing you dislike about how you look... just because someone once told you it wasn’t “normal”?
What if you let yourself be seen? Fully. Unedited. You.
Photo Credits: Dwayne Joe.