Why I deflect compliments

004: Masking Insecurities and Healing My Inner Child

Dear Diary

The first time I understood the difference between pretty and ugly was in elementary school. Before then, beauty had never been a question—I was raised in the warmth of love and reassurance, believing I was beautiful simply because I existed. Ugly was a foreign word, reserved for monsters in fairy tales, not something that could be attached to a person, let alone me.

But then, a teacher shattered that illusion with a single comment about my hair. She didn’t just call it untamed. She likened me to madness itself, as if my natural curls were some kind of disorder that needed to be corrected. I had grown up in an era when nappy hair wasn’t celebrated; it was seen as something to be “fixed.” And mine? It was thick, long, and unruly, too much for society’s expectations, too much for my mother to perm. Instead, she twisted it into threads every week, refusing to conform to the idea that my hair had to be tamed to be acceptable.

That teacher’s words weren’t just words. They shaped how I saw myself afterwards. To add to the problem, a boy who sat near me was also bullying me. I can’t remember the exact reason why but perhaps he was mirroring what he’d seen at home? Because how else do you explain a stocky boy punching a 7 year old in class and watching her cry?

Was I the problem? Did I need to change to be worthy of kindness?

Years later, things didn’t get better—they just changed. High school introduced me to a new understanding of beauty, one that came with invisible rules and unspoken privileges. I didn’t even know pretty privilege existed until I saw it in action—the way certain people were adored simply because they fit the mold, while others, like me, were either mocked or ignored.

The first time someone commented on how big my lips were, I felt my heart sink. Until that moment, I had never considered there was anything wrong with them. But as a girl, having full lips felt strange—especially when they weren’t admired, but laughed at. And as if that wasn’t enough, I also had atopic dermatitis, my skin marked with visible signs of a battle I never asked for. Hospital visits blurred into one another, money drained away in search of solutions, and in the quiet of my room, I shed tears, wishing it all away.

My skin is in a better place now. So is my mind, thank God. But back then? It was a nightmare.

And it didn’t help that I surrounded myself with people who made me feel like love—God’s love, their love—was something I had to earn. When your foundation is faulty, what can you do? There’s only so much rejection your self-esteem can take before it crumbles, before you find yourself chasing validation, hoping that maybe this time, you’ll be enough.

Then, suddenly, the world flipped. The world embraced celebrities like Kim Kardashian, and suddenly, full lips became desirable. The same lips I once hid in shame were now something people wanted to buy. For years, I was mocked for them. Now, people were noticing, admiring, even to the point where the attention felt strange, almost unreal. After years of being told my lips were too much, I didn’t know what to do with people suddenly acting like they were just right.

Humans are strange creatures. Do we even know what we want? Or are we like plasticine clay, molding our desires after whatever the media sells us, even if it means crushing others along the way?

So if I ever deflect a compliment, know this—somewhere deep inside, there’s still a quiet voice that wonders if people are just trying to be nice. If they’re setting me up, waiting for me to believe the praise before pulling the rug from under me again. If I let them put me in the spotlight, will they see something else to mock? Will I be dragged back to those moments in time where I was ridiculed for simply being me?

But here’s the thing: my inner child is healing. She is learning to be whole again, to reclaim her beauty after years of rejection. And this time, she isn’t waiting for validation from anyone. I don’t need to post a picture and wait for the world to approve to know I’m beautiful. I don’t need social media to confirm it for me, though if you give one, I’ll smile and say thank you instead of shrinking away.

Because I get my validation every single day from Jesus. And when you’ve got eternal love, who needs the fickle approval of man?

I love my hair—before my Loctician tells me it’s beautiful. I love how my curls intertwine to form locs, how they fall against my scalp in all their glory. I love how my body heals itself, strengthened by the Holy Spirit. I love my skin and how I am finally learning to feel at home in it. I love my body, how flexible and strong it is. I love my lips and the soft pink hue of my lower lip. I love my smile.

After years of rejecting myself, I am finally learning to love myself.

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P.S: Colbie Caillat’s Try makes me teary anytime I watch it. When I have a daughter, she’s definitely listening to this song :)