#MyBodyStory is a series of reader submitted pieces about what it’s like to live in your body. Because every body has a story, and every story deserves to be heard.
Do you have a #MyBodyStory to share? Send it to [email protected]
And now, here is Kyn’s Body Story:
The opinions expressed in #MyBodyStory are the writer’s own.
Over the span of my high school years my face slowly became engulfed with peaks and valleys, dark and light patches, and a semi permanent feeling of defeat hidden behind a never fading smile. I was happy, but I wanted nothing more than for my skin to be as clear as it was when I was younger. I just wanted to feel that unexplainable confidence that I couldn’t even remember possessing.
During these same years I was into pageants and modeling, and I was also in my high school’s marching band kick line. Can you say MAKEUP?! My face was smothered and I could never give it a break. On top of that, I had a major obsession with popping the suckers. Gross, I know. Thus here I am, 5+ years later, dealing with the evidence of pimples past…
My road to self confidence/living with my acne scars hasn’t felt the smoothest. Its been dry and/or oily skin, cystic acne and blackheads, tight skin and headaches. I’ve sat awake sobbing into my hands some nights, angry with myself and believing that what I was going through was my fault. That I ruined something that wasn’t broken. Thankfully that’s not the case and I’ve since learned that this discomfort is only temporary. We’re all dealt a hand of cards in this life. And though we won’t always be happy with the obstacles we have to overcome, those cards were tailored specifically for us.
In this story, social media is actively helping me heal my trauma instead of encouraging me to think less of myself.
In late 2017, I took a small hiatus from my regular social media posting due to a major breakout. I was definitely staying away from make up and couldn’t even stand to look myself in the mirror let alone a camera. So I started posting photos with captions that reminded me to adjust the way I was viewing my current obstacle. I soon decided to shift my focus back to myself and put ME first, instead of my job, my relationship, and even some friendships which actually ended up falling apart. And I began to love myself and care for myself, both mentally and physically. I know, sooo cliche. But it made the most sense, because instead of obsessing over the next topical treatment that hit drug store counters, I changed my diet and started listened to the signals my body gave.
I began taking to my social media platforms completely makeup free way more often than not and it didn’t bother me at all. I figured, if this is me on the daily and I can be the same woman here or anywhere else for that matter! I began to love all parts of my imperfect self and I embraced whatever reactions came with it.
When I posted one specific photo to my Instagram (which was later turned into a body positive meme), I wasn’t necessarily happy with how my skin was looking or feeling. For lack of a better word, I felt unsightly. I looked in the mirror, applied my Carmex and found something beautiful that I liked about myself. At the time, I was probably thinking: “Thank God my lips aren’t chapped too.” Or: “Look at that clear skin right under your eye girl, thats hope right there.”
But the caption said: ”Everyday learning to love the parts of myself that no one claps for. Trusting the process. Finding beauty in everything this world has to offer, including myself.”
I am learning to be content and not rush the time it takes to heal. It would be easy to say that my relationship with my scars is peachy keen, but that’s absolutely not the case. Although the many testimonies of other women dealing with the same battle in my inbox fills my heart everyday with so much joy. We connect, encourage, spread love and show each other that we’re not alone! I’m thankful for my scars. They’ve taught me a lesson and I wouldn’t change my skin journey for a thing.
Here’s to loving ourselves thru the scars.
Follow Kyn on Instagram