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I dreaded recess every single day. It came to a point where I had absolutely no desire to go anymore. I never wanted to be around anyone my age. I was too different than they were.

“Why do you look like that?”

“Why do you cry all the time?”

“Why are all of your clothes so big?”

These questions haunted me from kindergarten to fourth grade. All I wanted was to be like everyone else. I was never comfortable in my own skin or around my peers. Ever since I was a little girl, I struggled with being “bigger” than the average elementary kid. For me, my weight factored the way I saw myself starting with when I first enrolled in school. I never wanted to leave my house. I was scared that no matter where I went, I would be looked at weird. I would’ve rather been anyone else on earth, except myself.

I know it sounds a bit exaggerated that I felt this way, but when everyone makes you feel like you’re a lost cause, you start to believe it. The feeling of being hated for the way I looked didn’t fade for awhile. Throughout intermediate and middle school, I shared some of the same thoughts that my seven year-old self had too. I kept doubting myself. I spent most nights alone in my room wondering why I didn’t love myself. I only hung out with my closest friends. I was afraid that anyone else wouldn’t like me.

Intermediate school was not as bad as elementary school. I met kids that went to different elementary schools than me, and I clicked with some of them. Others, not so much. I still struggled with being bullied. People still said mean things to me but nothing like before.

In middle school, it started getting bad again. The kids became more verbally aggressive and the bad feelings got stronger. I was sad all the time. The smallest thing someone said to me would set me off. Even if people looked at me a different way, I got upset. I did everything I could to not let people get to me. I deleted some of my social media in the seventh grade and even spent most nights doing homework instead of texting my friends. I just wanted to disappear.

Eighth grade year was especially hard for me. I broke down almost everyday. I started dating this boy first semester of eighth grade — I swore I fell in love with him. He made me feel more beautiful than I had ever felt in my entire life. He treated me better than I ever had treated him. He respected me and our relationship greatly and his love never faded. We dated for about four months until I completely drove him over the edge, and he became fed up. I was too insecure to be in a relationship with him, and it finally had taken its toll.

Our breakup was one of the hardest things I thought I was ever going to deal with. I cried and cried for weeks. I couldn’t look at him the same for about a year. I was depressed. Everything reminded me of him. Certain songs, restaurants, people, smells, everything.

Don’t get me wrong, I would’ve broken up with me in eighth grade too. Our relationship was very one-sided, and it wasn’t fair to him. I finally realized this a few months after we broke up. I know he was happier. Not having to deal with a depressed 13 year-old obviously had its perks. Eventually, I was okay with it though because his happiness has always been what matters most to me, even though I was nowhere near happy.

As if our breakup wasn’t bad enough, I had been fighting with my best friend, at the time, and we weren’t on speaking terms.

In the period that I was getting over him, my insecurities grew so much worse. I really hated who I was. I hated that I pushed him and almost everyone else away. I loved him so deeply that I forgot to love myself in the process. Who would’ve ever thought that my low self-esteem would lead to heartbreak?

Almost a year after we broke up, I finally started to be comfortable with who I was. I got really involved in my church, grew amazing friendships, lived for the moment and loved myself before I truly loved anyone else. I learned to accept myself for me, and I changed who I was for the better. I became confident in myself, and it made me a better person.

I know the cliché term, “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” is a lie because I had been through the hurt that words cause. However, when I started living by the phrase, “Sticks and stones may break my bones and words may too, if you let them” my world was turned around.

After years of questioning myself, the insecure seven year-old still lives inside of me, but I only feed her positive thoughts. The problem we have with ourselves nowadays is we only hold on to the negative comments. We don’t remember the ten people that told us they love our shoes, we remember the one person who told us they didn’t. Learning to love and accept myself, my talents, my beliefs and especially the way I look, led me to who I am today. And honestly, I wouldn’t trade places with anyone else on earth.