Chasing beautiful is tiresome
the parts of ourselves we hide
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 and almost failed, so I said to myself, “Lynn, girl… we’re not playing this game anymore.” I’d respond no, but 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 think, fine.
You want to copy me? Cool.
But I had a system, especially back on the island. Classwork, quizzes, and exams had to be in pen, blue ink only, or the teachers would not accept your work. I wrote in pencil first. Then, when they announced: “five minutes left, everyone!” they paraded 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 in 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.
That’s the thing about hiding, sometimes it 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. And when people treat you nicely, you think, “The formula worked.” But did they like you, or the edited version of you?
The truth is, those tiny things we do to feel safe add up. One little “let me just fix this” can become a lifestyle of hiding. We believe we’re managing perception, but we’re really managing our own fear. And the more we try, the deeper we sink. I’ve lived that reality, and let me tell you, it’s a vicious cycle. I’d find a corner, see everything, be seen by no one. If I got bullied, I thought I deserved it. 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 eight hours, there but not fully living.
I remember one day, a boy asked, “Why do you look different than your siblings?” I didn’t answer. Because what do you even say to that? From 7 to 17, my face felt like a stranger. People knocked on it like it was some locked steel door at a bank. 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…” Or show it and be like whatever.
And for what? A word we barely ever stop to question: normal. Such a weird little thing. It changes all the time, depending on who’s looking, when, 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. 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.
Sure, I could spend the rest of my life hiding my face. I’d look a tiny bit more normal. But why should I? Every time I ask, I can’t find a good reason that isn’t about how other people see me.
So for the past three years, I’ve chosen to say, “Bye, Felicia!!” Because 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.
Besides God, the only guaranteed lifelong partner I’ll have is me. And you? You have you. So why treat yourself worse than strangers?
Why let your mirrors undo what God already called beautiful?
Because truth is you were:
✨ never too much.
✨ never a mistake.
✨ never meant to blend in.
Heart Call:
If you’ve ever felt like your reflection needed to change before you could be loved,
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.