When I was 13 years old. I started getting acne, began to gain weight,and started to develop the sensitivity that is typical of teenagers. In those years, social media also became popular. I spent a lot of time scrolling through social media. Everytime I opened my phone, I saw my friends and the girl in the media posting photos online, the white glow of my phone lighting up my dark room. skinny body, perfect skin, a clean and glowing face. None of them had acne. None of them looked tired. None of them looked like me.

                  At first, I didn’t think too much about it. But slowly, those images started to stay in my mind. I stood in front of the mirror, the light smell of face wash still on my skin.I started to look at my face in the mirror, Suddenly discovered all I could see were my flaws. My face is too messy. My body is too big. I started to think “Why do I look like that?”

                 Soon, these thoughts became a routine. I started skipping meals and calling it dieting. I started wearing a mask to school every day precisely to cover up my ugly acne on my face. I weighed myself every morning. When I ate something I liked, I felt guilty instead of happy. I have never dared to take off my mask outside either, for fear that another might see my ugly acne. Because my relatives around me often say that I have a lot of acne, and the requirements and descriptions of female beauty on social media have made me less and less confident in myself. I thought that if I didn't become thinner and prettier, I wouldn't be acceptable.

              One night I remember staring at my reflection and thinking, “Is this really me? Why do I hate myself so much?” The truth is, I didn’t start out hating myself. The media taught me. Social media told me that beauty had only one shape and one face. I believe it. I followed it. I make myself too unhappy. I make myself not confident. Once, a family member looked at me and said, “Maybe if you lost a little weight, you’d feel better about yourself.”

I realized that the same messages hurting me were shaping the way they saw beauty too.

             When I entered high school, I thought things would get better. I told myself that I was older now, and I shouldn’t care so much about how I looked. But every time I walked into the school or outside the street. I still felt some pressure.

              I remember one day during lunch, my friend looked at my face and said solely.

            “Did you try a new product? Your skin looks different."

I knew she didn't mean to hurt me, but her words felt sharp.

I touched my cheek and looked away.

            " I know," I said quietly, “It's worse."

 From then on, l began to decide not to eat at school lunches. This way, no one would see my skin and I also could lose weight as well. In fact, it's possible that why my friend meant to say was that my skin had improved. However, due to my lack at confidence by the media a casual remark from my friend hurt me

                At home, my mom noticed I ate very little during dinner.

  “Why aren’t you eating?” she asked.

  “I’m just not hungry,” I said, even though my stomach was empty.

She looked at me carefully. “You’ve been skipping meals. What’s going on?”

I didn't answer. The room fell silent, save for the sound of chopsticks hitting the bowl. 

 “You are growing. You need strength, not stress.”

Mom put hot rice and vegetables into my bowl.

                 As I got older, something slowly began to shift.It wasn’t sudden. Some days I still hated my reflection, but other days, the voice in my head felt a little quieter.

             I started meeting more and more people who didn't fit the ideal image society imposed on them. Girls with acne, boys with scars on their faces, people of all shapes and sizes. They sat next to me in class, laughed loudly in the hallways, and didn't try to hide themselves when posting photos online.They laugh freely and live without restraint. I often watch them and wonder: why can they be so confident, while I always want to shrink myself down?

                One day after class, I chatted with my older cousin, who was in college. She also had acne, but her smile was natural. I noticed that she didn't deliberately cover her face or avoid people's gaze when she spoke. When she smiled, the acne didn't look out of place at all; instead, it looked beautiful. Her confidence made those acne look like jewels on her face.

I asked her, “How do you not care?”

She shrugged. “Because it doesn’t change who I am. And honestly? Most people don’t notice half the things we hate about ourselves.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said. “You’re the only one staring so hard at your own flaws.”

           Her words stayed with me. I didn't change immediately, but when that self-doubting voice reappeared, I began to notice its presence.

            Gradually, I began to refute the voice in my head that told me "I'm not good enough." Sometimes, I would repeat what my cousin had said in my mind; sometimes, I would simply choose not to stare at the mirror for too long.

            Later, when I saw those perfect faces again, I didn't immediately look down as I used to. I paused, then turned off the screen. At that moment, I suddenly realized that what truly bothered me wasn't my own face.

                As I began to change, the images I saw online also changed because my mindset shifted. I began to calmly consider the truth behind these things, instead of constantly doubting myself. This realization didn't appear suddenly; it came from many small moments. I discovered that whenever I stared at these images for too long, I would start to doubt myself. And when I looked away from the screen, those doubts would slowly disappear. I started to wonder, if I had never seen these images, would I still hate myself so much?After that, my understanding of "beauty" began to slowly change. It wasn't a sudden realization, but rather the result of gradual accumulation. This change came from small moments: sometimes it was chatting with my mother, sometimes it was seeing confident girls who didn't conform to societal standards of "perfection," yet still shone brightly. They didn't deliberately hide anything when posting photos online, and even when people commented, they remained confident. Slowly, I began to understand: true confidence isn't about perfection, but about not caring about so-called perfection.

              I also began to try to change myself—not my appearance, but the way I see myself. I stopped focusing solely on acne, my figure, or facial imperfections, and started paying attention to other important things: my kindness, my personality, my abilities—the parts of myself that my loving friends and my parents told me truly define me. Sometimes I look in the mirror and simply smile at myself; sometimes I walk down the street, trying not to focus on my flaws, but to experience the world around me. Every small effort seemed to quietly tell me: I can slowly accept myself.

                   Of course, I still have moments of insecurity; these childhood wounds still affect me. But now, when these things appear, I stop and remind myself: I don't need to become someone else; I am who I am. Most people don't actually scrutinize every detail of me as closely as I imagined.

               As I've learned to be gentler with myself, I've also started paying attention to those around me. When I see friends posting photos online, I encourage them. Seeing them gradually become more confident, smiling more brightly in each new photo, fills me with joy. But at the same time, I see another side of the internet: many girls' photos are followed by comments like "You've gained weight," "What happened to your face?", and even vulgar sexual jokes, as if the girls in the photos aren't real people, but merely objects for judgment. This makes me realize that society's harshness towards women is far more severe than I imagined.

                Looking back at my insecure self, I finally realize that the world didn't have as many spectators as I thought. Even without a mask, people wouldn't notice every pimple or weight I had. I used to think everyone was staring at me, but the real world isn't like that. Most people are busy with their lives and won't judge every detail of me.

               It is because of these experiences that I have gradually learned to stand firm and no longer let external stereotypes influence me. I am still affected by societal standards, but each time, I remind myself: these voices are not mine, but rather products of others' desire to make me feel insecure. Every time I realize this, I take a deep breath and gently tell myself: I don't need to cater to them. Nobody cares; I need to love myself more and be more confident.