Sometimes, I can't help but feel like nature played a bit of a prank on me. Not the harmless kind, but the one where you're left wondering if the universe has a twisted sense of humor.
It started early. Picture this: a newborn baby with a single, stark white hair. A premature gray, standing out like a beacon against my dark hair. By the time I was nine, my entire head was a silvery crown. My mom, bless her heart, tried everything, from henna (which turned me into a walking sunset) to countless home remedies. Friends went from teasing me about being an "old grandma" to marveling at my ability to rock every shade of orange imaginable.
Then there were the teeth. My milk teeth, stubborn as ever, refused to budge. My permanent teeth, eager to make their debut, simply grew in alongside them. So began a decade of awkward smiles, painful extractions, and a lingering vampire tooth that finally met its demise a few years ago. Braces at 30? Been there, done that.
Keratosis pilaris, or as my friends so lovingly called it, "chicken skin," added another layer of self-consciousness. My skin, perpetually bumpy and rough, became a source of endless teasing and embarrassment.
But the physical challenges were just the beginning. From my paternal side, I inherited a predisposition for mental illness. Depression and anxiety, those unwelcome guests, have been my constant companions. My brain seems wired for negativity, always quick to assume the worst, to focus on the flaws, to believe I'm inherently "less than."
And then there's the migraine. That pulsating, nausea-inducing, light-sensitive gift from both sides of my family. Sensory overload is my default setting. Eczema joined the party, too, leaving my skin dry, itchy, and perpetually flaky. As if the keratosis pilaris wasn't enough.
Oh, and did I mention the myopia? Thick glasses, squinting at the blackboard, and a perpetual fear of losing a contact lens. Thankfully, Lasik came to the rescue.
Just when I thought I'd seen it all, I discovered I have a thalassemia trait. Lifelong fatigue? Constant exhaustion? Check and check. It's like my body is running on a battery that's always on the verge of dying.
So yeah, nature didn't exactly deal me the easiest hand. It's easy to feel frustrated, even resentful. How am I supposed to thrive in a world that values physical perfection and mental resilience when my body and mind are constantly at odds? How am I supposed to feel confident and worthy when I'm constantly dealing with insecurities and limitations?
But here's the thing: I'm still here. I'm still fighting. I'm learning to love myself, flaws and all. I'm striving to succeed, despite the obstacles. I’m not really winning, nor do I feel like I’m at the halfway mark. But I’m trying.
I've learned to embrace my gray hair, to laugh at my dental mishaps, to moisturize the heck out of my "chicken skin." I'm learning to manage my mental health, to cope with the pain of migraine, and to find ways to conserve my energy.
I'm also learning to challenge the societal norms that tell me I'm not good enough. I'm learning to own my story, to celebrate my uniqueness, and to refuse to let anyone else define my worth.
It’s a work in progress. It's not easy. There are days when I want to give up, to hide from the world. Today is one of those days.