For as long as I can remember, I have hated the way I look. And it’s not about being insecure. I truly wish that’s all it was. It’s so much deeper. My physical appearance has always been something I have hated. I have hated how I have looked because of the sexual abuse I faced as a kid. My body, for so long, was nothing but a shell that I had to carry around. It felt heavy and unwanted. I felt grotesque.

For most of my life, I have felt shame. My self-image was shattered, and the thought of anyone knowing what happened growing up was hard to accept. I didn’t want anyone to know. How could they view me as a person, not a victim, and not feel sorry for me? To tell me to stop being insecure when that wasn’t how I felt? Even looking in the mirror and seeing my reflection staring back at me was painful. All I saw was a helpless, sad, pitiful little boy. And to convey that to people so they would understand was always difficult for me. So I didn’t bother. Instead, I just hid behind a mask.

Compliments have always been something I have had issues with as well. Feeling broken inside and being told you are attractive or having people flirt with you is quite a heady experience. Why would anyone want the person I was when I was so damaged?

I wanted to feel comfortable in my own skin, but for so long, I couldn’t.

My body was a weapon that was used against me. Against my will. I was made to do things in this body that I didn’t want to do. I hated myself for what happened, and I even blamed myself for a really long time. So for years, as I grew older, I pushed myself. I tried to maintain my body to look good. I took up sports. I went to the gym to stay healthy. I wanted my mind to look at my body and accept it. It wasn’t about having an off day; I wanted to feel comfortable in my own skin, but for so long, I couldn’t. There was a disconnect, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t accept my own appearance. The sense of self-hatred I felt was palpable.

The abuse I endured was never meant to happen to me. It wasn’t some grand plan that I could learn from or know that I am strong and can live through trauma. It happened because someone was an abuser and took advantage of me. My abuse isn’t my story. My story is about reclaiming what was stolen from me. And it all begins with healing.

I have spent the last couple of months in intensive therapy trying to counteract that self-hatred. To stop hating who I am and how I look because of what someone else did to me as a child. To reaffirm that it was not my fault. To embrace who I am. To be compassionate towards myself and to celebrate who I am and my own body. That it is safe. To allow myself to accept that I am someone who is worthy of being loved for exactly who I am. It’s not easy, and there are moments I want to hide myself and step back into the dark. But I have removed the mask and really started leaning into me as a person. And so far, the positivity that I have experienced has been quite surprising. But in a good way.

I was born into this body. It’s who I am, and I want to find peace. To have the sense of calm that I long for. So, I refuse to carry the burden of shame around any longer. I choose to start putting down the heavy baggage that I have carried around for far too long. I will continue to write and share my story, and I know that I have a lot to give for being exactly who I am. I deserve to be happy, and that’s exactly what I intend on being.