There’s something haunting about looking at old pictures of yourself—especially when they come from someone else’s phone, a past you thought you left behind. Five years ago. Ten years ago. And suddenly, there I was, staring at a version of myself that I had buried deep in my memory.
And I won’t lie. That girl? She was ugly.
Not in a poetic, misunderstood way. I mean truly, painfully, unmistakably ugly. The hair? A mess. The face? Not flattering. And my teeth—cooked beyond redemption. No wonder people looked at me the way they did. No wonder the teasing never stopped. No wonder I never had the kind of childhood admiration other girls had, no secret notes, no shy confessions, no little playground crushes in primary school.
Looking back, it makes sense why I hated myself so much.
I didn’t just dislike the way I looked—I despised it. I let that self-hate take root, grow, and wrap itself around my confidence until nothing was left. I could never accept a compliment. When people said something nice, my first instinct was to assume they were lying, waiting for my reaction, playing a cruel joke. How could I believe in beauty when I had spent years believing I had none?
And yet, something changed.
Somewhere along the way, people started looking at me differently. Not with pity, not with mockery—but with admiration. Attraction. Interest. And it terrified me.
Because how could I trust it?
How could I believe that the same world that had laughed at me before now saw me as beautiful? The ugly duckling might have grown, but the past is a stubborn ghost.
And so, here I am. Caught between who I was and who I am becoming. Knowing that my reflection no longer haunts me, but still carrying the weight of those old scars. Praying—truly praying—that these braces I’m about to get will work magic, that they will refine what’s left of my imperfections and make me finally, finally see what others claim to see.
But maybe, just maybe, the magic isn’t in the braces. Maybe it’s in me. Maybe it always was.
And maybe the real beauty isn’t about transformation—it’s about learning to accept the girl I once was, so I can love the woman I am becoming.
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