The Beauty I Couldn’t See: A Reflection on Insecurity and the Unexpected Compliment

Growing up, I was often lost in the background, a little mouse in a world that seemed filled with vibrant personalities and confident smiles. I was shy, deeply insecure, and convinced that I wasn’t pretty. The mirror was a constant reminder of what I believed I lacked. I saw flaws where others saw beauty, and I didn’t think I was enough. I tried to blend in, hoping that if I didn’t draw attention to myself, no one would notice how different I felt from everyone else. The hold my insecurity had on me caused me to not really show up in some areas of my life. So I wound’t draw attention to myself. I intentionally tried to blend in.

Makeup was something I minimally touched. I watched as other girls skillfully applied their eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss; transforming their faces with every stroke. When I looked at myself, I couldn’t figure out where to begin. It seemed pointless to try, so I stuck to the basics, if anything at all. I believed that no amount of makeup could change how I saw myself—or how I thought others saw me.

My hair was another source of frustration. It never seemed to cooperate, no matter how hard I tried to style it. I would spend hours trying to tame it, but it always seemed to have a mind of its own. Heck even tame is a reach, I should simply say, get it to do something…anything. While others had perfect curls or sleek, straight locks; long, thick, and beautiful hair. I felt like mine was a constant stringy mess. This only added to the feeling that I didn’t fit in, that I was somehow less than those around me.

I wasn’t athletic enough, and started too late to excel in any sports. I would never catch up. I couldn’t sing, or dance. I had zero talent. So, I tried to blend in. I kept to the background, hoping that by not drawing attention to myself, I could avoid the pain of feeling like I didn’t belong.

Because of all this, I felt out of place. The ugly duckling. I was surrounded by people who seemed to have it all together, who seemed to effortlessly fit into the world, while I struggled to find my place. I felt like I wasn’t enough—not pretty enough, not confident enough, just not enough. Athletes. Theater. Musical Talent. So smart. Then there was me. Maybe if I applied myself, or even was pushed to I could have done something. The problem though was would it push me even further down?

I had friends. I had lots of friends. I had a supportive family. I still do!!! Maybe if I had talked to someone about all of this. I just didn’t know to; insecure about that too! I was, and am, a supportive person. I was always outgoing. I just couldn’t go that far for myself, at least I thought.

I know a person is a lot more than what they look like, but so many instances in life, you have to admit, it matters. People are always judging how someone “looks” for their age. Or gosh “what were they thinking” with that outfit, or tattoo, haircut, or something else. How about the weight judgement? Over dressed, underdressed. The right clothes. The trends. I know now also that if people do give you a chance to get to know you that ones appearance is more than their face, hair, and body. I thought I understood that when I was younger, but I know I didn’t. I thought I was the exception. I was afraid. 

Clothing and accessories, is where I would experiment. I remember having to buy the same sweaters everyone had, but I would then accessorize with something different. Or the same jeans (well mine were probably boys Levi’s that my Mom further altered as I was too thin to fit into normal jeans many were wearing) and I would borrow a sweater from my sister or something vintage (I discovered vintage shopping early on!) Now clothing is often my super hero cape, my shield maybe, or even my mask. I can hide in something, or I can shine in it! Sometimes the same piece. It can open me up to attention, and help me inspire my confidence in having something to talk about if I have nothing else. A great vintage piece is like my comfort zone. Unique. I now blend by not blending; I fit in by being different. Because of all this, I felt like I didn’t fit in. I watched from the sidelines, longing to be part of the crowd, but always feeling like I was on the outside looking in. I believed I wasn’t enough—not pretty enough, not outgoing enough, just not enough. So, I did what I thought was the next best thing: I tried to blend in. I kept my head down, avoided drawing attention to myself, and hoped that I could just get through the day without being noticed.

College. I was ready to re-invent myself. Some friends I initially was spending time with; were not healthy for me. We would walk into a party, all eyes on them. They knew it, and used it. I was invisible. Even though I convinced myself that I preferred it this way, doesn’t mean that deep down I didn’t want more; I always did, always. For a time I watched these new friends in awe. I think this where my shift started; I didn’t want what they had, I wanted my OWN life. The romanticized idea I had about college just was not true. Don’t get me wrong, I had fun. I did make some good friends. Some of which helped me become who I am now; and may not even realize it. Thank you. I started to just be me. Or at least the me I knew how to be at the time. Looking back, it was a sort of new beginning. I started to say what I wanted; and reach for it. My other issues were of course present, but I was figuring it out. I couldn’t run away from them. I learned that people liked me for me, and I realized they always had. My actual friends didn’t care if I fit in or blended in or whatever; they knew at the core I am me.

Blending in didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it reinforced the idea that I was invisible, that my presence didn’t matter. I was missing out on the chance to express myself, to show the world who I really was, because I was too afraid of being judged.

I know I talked a lot about the way I looked. That never really changed. I always thought I was this gangly girl with a big nose and stringy hair. Super dull. In a way I still do, but I have learned to embrace it as its the only me I know, and I am used to her.

As I grew older, I started to realize that my insecurities were holding me back from experiencing life to the fullest. I began to see that beauty isn’t just about makeup or perfect hair—it’s about confidence, kindness, and being true to yourself. I slowly started to embrace who I was, flaws and all. I experimented with makeup on my own terms, choosing often to wear none. I learned to work with my hair, accepting that it had its own ideas and went with it.

Most importantly, I stopped trying to blend in. I started to find my own style, my own voice. I began to take pride in the things that made me different, realizing that these were the things that made me unique. It wasn’t an overnight transformation, and there are still days when those old insecurities creep back in. But now, I know that I’m enough, just as I am.

I learned to acknowledge the girl inside of me that is shy and insecure. Instead of trying to bury her like I wanted to do so many times growing up, I embraced her. I thank her everyday. She is always with me. Sometimes as a reminder of what I need to do; other times as my own support system. I don’t need to hide her. I don’t need to hide me.

Recently, something happened that made me look back at those years with new eyes. I was having a conversation with a friend I grew up with, and it came up about how I always tried to blend in because I didn’t think I was pretty. To my surprise, they told me that they always thought I was beautiful. It was a revelation that stunned me. I had spent so many years believing I was invisible, that my presence didn’t matter. To hear that someone saw beauty in me all along was both shocking and heartwarming.

It made me realize how much of my life had been shaped by my own insecurities, by a belief that I wasn’t good enough. I had spent so much time trying to blend in that I never noticed the people who might have seen me differently. I always knew they were my friends, but I never knew what they saw. It was a reminder that the way we see ourselves isn’t always how others see us.

If I could go back and talk to my younger self, I would tell her that she was always enough, just as she was. That beauty isn’t just about makeup or hair, but about the kindness in your heart, the way you carry yourself, and the confidence you project. I would tell her that even though she felt like she didn’t fit in, there were people who saw her, who appreciated her, who thought she was beautiful.

This experience has taught me that our perceptions of ourselves can be so different from how others perceive us. We can be our own harshest critics, seeing flaws where others see beauty. It’s a reminder to be kinder to ourselves, to recognize our own worth, and to understand that we are often more than enough, just as we are.

Now, when I look back on those years, I may try to see myself through the eyes of that friend. I try to remember that even when I felt invisible, there were people who saw me, who thought I was pretty, who valued me for who I was; inside and out. And that’s something I carry with me as I continue to grow and embrace who I am today.

Today. I am me. I am all me….

~ Thanks for reading… Terri Lynn Visovatti

*Picture is from 1994