Society sees “the perfect girl” as tall and skinny, with long, perfectly flowing hair, enticing eyes, and a flawless complexion. I’ve spent a majority of my life pondering the truthfulness of this vision. Will I ever have a radiant smile like that of girls in the Crest Whitening Strips commercial? Is my skin ever going to look like that of models for Proactiv? Even on my best hair day, will my dead ends ever compare to the Australian locks of Aussie shampoo users? As my self-esteem plummeted, the knowledge that I definitely “wasn’t born with it” became clear, thus confirming that I could never be a spokeswoman for Maybelline makeup.
Each morning was the same routine. I continued to hit snooze as I wished to remain comfortably in my bed. I eventually got up, stretched my limbs, and proceeded to the bathroom. I walked slowly and fearfully down the hallway, knowing that once I entered the bathroom, all bets were off. I attempted to go about my routine in the dark to avoid the danger in store, but I needed to face the light, as I could no longer brush my teeth in pitch-blackness. When I turned on the light, I encountered the biggest monster of all: my reflection.
From there, it was a downward spiral. By turning on the light, I saw the mirror. By looking in the mirror, I saw my reflection. Finally, thanks to my reflection, all of my flaws were exposed. I stared at myself wondering when, how, and if, I could ever achieve the slightest bit of perfection. I start examining myself top to bottom. Thanks to the monster, I was now able to see my crooked hairline, my un-plucked uni-brow, and my blackheads that took over my nose like ants flocking to a fallen ice cream cone on a hot summer day. My chubby dimples, and my crooked overbite were no longer disguised, as was my not-so-Victoria-Secret-Angel-like body.   I was a mess, and the monster staring back at me confirmed my theory.
Despite the myriad of compliments from my biased mother and grandmother, I feared the monster each day. The monster continued to grow, as my confidence waned. My middle school years were treacherous; my awkward stage was at its peak. I knew that if I was going to destroy this monster, some serious self-reflection was going to have to take place.
With the helping hand of my mother’s credit card, some hot wax, and a couple dozen of Keratin hair treatments  (which I have now learned I am allergic to), my outer beauty started to improve. With that, my self- esteem grew.  As I got myself together, I finally gained some self-appreciation. The monster began to shrink, but it did not go away.
It was not until my sophomore year that I completely obliterated the demon staring back at me. This occurred when I realized that in actuality, no one really cared about how I looked. My inner beauty of compassion, kindness, and affability outshined my external features.  My character was the strongest representation of who I really was, not the clothes on my body, or how many pimples I had on my forehead. I realized that “perfection” is not a realistic goal because it didn’t exist.  I finally had the one weapon that could render the monster powerless: acceptance.
To this day, I know that there will always be a little part of the monster present. But I’ve also learned to tame the beast by always putting my best foot forward and accepting and embracing my flaws. Of course I am still sometimes self-conscious, but I know that comparing myself to others is simply foolish, as no one can be better at being me, than me. So I remind myself to stay true, and if others don’t approve of my approach, I invite them to take their issues up with their own monster.