"Excuse me, Sir."

I get that a lot. Whether I'm outside taking a walk or in a restaurant, I get mistaken for a man. I'm not a girly girl. I don't have earrings, I don't paint my nails, and I don't wear makeup. I actually think it's quite funny when someone mistakes me for a man. I don't get offended by it. But my ability to laugh toff the confusion wasn't always there. Like most girls, I struggled with body and self-image. The difference was how I dealt with it. I kept everything inside and told no one. Self harm came easy to me. I never left any scars, so there is no evidence of it.

When I was in my teens, there was a woman who came to work with my family. She was fresh out of California and always told everyone to shut up (when she was surprised by something). By now my self harm had gotten to be almost daily, and I was drowning in my own pain. We got to be pretty close, and I learned a great deal from her. But the most important and beautiful thing came when she decided to chop off all her hair. That was the greatest lesson in “beauty on the inside” that I've ever seen.

Up until then I was dumb enough to believe that beauty was on the outside. I did my nails, and my mom spent many tortured hours doing my hair. I had always hated the beauty rituals, but believed they were necessary. Now I knew they weren't. Of course the change for me didn't happen overnight. I still painted my nails for a few years (the guy who did my nails was really good!), and I didn't chop all my hair off until I got to college. But that chopping her hair off was a defining moment for me. Slowly, I began to appreciate myself. I began to see myself for the beautiful human being I am today.