Self-Acceptance Is a Long Road
I’m still trying to clear the cobwebs
I’m a 33-year-old artist and multiple heart surgery survivor.
Even before these medical procedures, I was in a period of change, moving away from negative emotional and behavioral patterns. I now recognize these patterns were formed at a young age and were fueled by insecurities regarding unwanted physical aspects of myself that plague me even to this day.
Though these three main insecurities that I’ll share may seem vain, they have informed more than I’d like to admit. But as I’ve come to realize, the act of sharing isn’t about having it all figured out — it’s about having the courage to let others see the messy, unfinished parts of my journey. This is where the real growth happens, in the midst of the chaos, not at the end of it.
1. I’ve always hated my big forehead
One day in early middle school, I was walking around in my big silky Dragon Ball Z button-down, frosted tips with an unreasonable amount of gel in my hair, and spiky metal Hot Topic and jelly bracelets covering my arms. I was a little nu-metal kid, and in my humble opinion, I looked rad as hell.
I remember it being a warm day, and I was sweating, causing some of the gel to drip down my forehead. Some kid, whose name I don’t even remember, came up to me and acted like he was looking in a mirror. It didn’t make sense until I realized the gel was making my forehead shiny, and he was acting like he could see himself. He proceeded to make fun of my big forehead for weeks.
Before that experience, I didn’t even think anything of it. My body was normal as far as I was concerned. Those cruel moments when you are taught to dislike an aspect of yourself.
Even now, I have a habit of trying to cover it up. No matter what haircut I get, I always try to have bangs. Most of the time, I just resort to wearing hats. I have A LOT of hats.
This may seem like a small thing and something I should just shrug off, but it’s hard to describe just how much anxiety this has given me my entire life.
The shame you can feel looking at yourself in the mirror. Being terrified of walking with someone on a windy day, worrying that your hair might get blown in a weird way. Hating the way I look with my hair slicked back and mocking myself. Literally using a ruler when I was younger to get an accurate size. Taking pictures of yourself from different angles to analyze how it truly looks. Trying to compare myself to any celebrity with a bigger forehead (I’ve been told it’s like Macaulay Culkin, not the comparison I wanted). Never being satisfied with my research.
It’s a hilarious thought, but I even dreamed as a kid of getting hair plugs or something to make it less noticeable. I remember having emotional blow-ups towards my parents while growing up regarding it. Basically a “how dare you have a child that was so deformed” outburst. They even tried showing pictures of relatives from past generations who looked similar, but that never helped either.
Now that I’m getting older, the ironic truth is that I’ll probably go bald before I have acceptance of it. My hair has stayed intact for now, but I know that even this is impermanent and will change at some point too.
At that moment, will I just fall apart completely?
2. I’ve always hated my thin hair
Around that same time in my youth, I remember bending down to grab something from my locker, and some other kids started making fun of me for having thin hair, acting grossed out that they could see my scalp, poking at the little swirl cowlick on the back of my head.
Once again, having thin hair was not something that had ever even crossed my mind. Of course its totally normal for parts of your scalp to show, no matter the thickness of your hair. But it deeply impacted me at the time.
Queue up a bathroom filled with volumizing products and debating using Rogaine as a child.
I’d try to still cover up my forehead but never having thick enough hair to do it exactly how I wished. To this day, I’m constantly messing with my hair and needing to recheck it, to make sure its not falling in an unwanted way.
This has always been a source of anxiety, especially amplified once I had to start being on blood thinners for the rest of my life due to my mechanical heart valve. For the uninitiated, blood thinners can cause hair loss for some people, which is why I cut my long hair after the procedure, thinking it was going to fall out anyway. It never did end up falling out, but that didn’t make me any more thankful that it was there because I never liked it in the first place.
3. I’ve always hated my skin
A quick Google search states 85% of people between the ages of 12–24 experience acne. Of this 85%, these same poor skin conditions will cause psychological impacts (anxiety, depression, low self-esteem) in 30–50% of people. If the acne persists past this age range, the likelihood of these negative psychological impacts only increases.
Navigating this for any extended period can be extremely distressing, and I can speak from personal experience.
By 8th grade, maybe sooner, I started to get breakouts. Sometimes these breakouts weren’t all that bad, but many times, they got pretty severe (at least in my my mind). They appeared on my face, neck, chest, back, and the back of my upper arms.
I would hyper-focus on every single area from a young age, going back and forth to a mirror throughout the entire day. Even if they were just small spots, my perception of them exaggerated how visible they were to others, as I gave them more attention. I could never leave them alone, constantly trying to pop or scratch them off, only worsening the situation.
The humiliation and regret after messing with them, realizing I had only made a mess of my skin when it was just a tiny bump to begin with, was overwhelming.
I feel like my skin was even worse off because of my facial hair “kind of” beginning to grow in. Even the smallest amount of peach fuzz would inflame my acne issues.
My facial hair didn’t even start to develop past a peach fuzzy stage until my mid-20s, always being thin and patchy, but I’d still have to shave it for different jobs. Of course, shaving only caused even more skin issues with razor bumps, hurting existing acne, and being a really fucking painful thing to do.
Even in my early 30s, I still have a sad excuse for facial hair. It’s never grown in fully and is very patchy.
Self-acceptance is a long road.
My education about what to do about any of this was certainly not as thorough as what younger kids these days have access to on TikTok.
I wasn’t taught proper skin treatment and only used what was marketed to us. I would buy whatever product I could get my hands on at our local drugstore. Salicylic acid facial wipes, foam cleansers, exfoliating cleansers, oil prevention products, benzoyl peroxide products, endless spot treatments, and all the different things advertised just for “men.”
I’m not joking that I would have a weekly haul and consistently bring different things home, just praying that one would be the answer. Cluelessly buying cover-up at a drugstore far away from my house, just in case anyone saw me in the makeup aisle.I tried Proactiv and other subscription-based services too. Eventually, I’d go to a dermatologist and get internal medications and specific prescriptions, but none of it worked.
Admittedly, maybe one of these things would work if I just gave it time, but I was never patient enough to see if any of it would work out over an extended period. I was so desperate for a quick fix. I was pummeling my skin with tons of shit for so many years, which only caused it to get even more oily with more breakouts since all you’re doing is making it worse by weakening your natural skin barrier.
I’d be so nervous to show my face anywhere out of fear of judgment.
When living at home, I was even stressed out to walk downstairs to see my family because I didn’t want anyone to comment on it.
Why even get out of bed at all?
As mindfulness teacher Jon Kabat-Zinn wisely said, “You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.”
Yes, but sometimes the waves drown you anyway.
How did all this impact me?
Negative coping methods are like the fast food of emotional management: easy to access, momentarily satisfying, but ultimately unhealthy.
It’s much simpler to reach for a joint or a drink than to take the time to truly investigate and address the roots of anxiety and depression.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have the tools to deal with these issues at the time. This anxiety and depression drove me to seek out harmful coping methods, which included being one hell of a stoner from the age of 13 (until just this year) and using alcohol to make any social engagement even bearable.
Mindfulness helped me identify these patterns.
As Thich Nhat Hanh said, “Smile, breathe, and go slowly.”
Easy for him to say; he didn’t have to navigate growing up with a big-ass forehead, thin hair, shitty facial hair, and bad skin.
Worrying about all these things made me a more jealous person too.
Why couldn’t I just be that individual with a normal-sized forehead, thick hair, perfect skin, and a full beard?
No matter what products I used, I could never live up to that, never change my anatomy to fit this idealized person in my head. It was de-masculating and I always tended to feel inferior. I’d be so anxious about my own situation that it taught me to look for these imperfections in others, which I am desperately trying to unlearn.
This was also something that was informed by my home life too. It sounds strange to say, but these insecurities could stem from something as subtle as my dad plucking chin hairs off of my grandmother. Sure, it’s a kind thing to do since she couldn’t do it herself if that's something she wanted us to do. But it wasn’t about what my grandmother was comfortable with; it was us interpreting those little imperfections as a bad thing.
Of course, a lot of this is societal too, and I understand that. These completely unattainable beauty standards that we are constantly trying to reach impacted much of my behavior around anyone in my life.
Whether or not you realize it, you bring your unresolved issues into every relationship — romantic, professional, in a band, or friendship. Even if you think you’re hiding it well, it just shows up in different ways. Nothing ever gets fixed by simply being with someone or acquiring a particular external thing.
Ultimately, you need to be the one to heal yourself.
Since I did not love myself for many phases of my life, this caused numerous issues. I was always secretly navigating these insecurities, and it never exactly set me up for success.
How am I clearing the cobwebs to reveal self-worth?
As stated, I’m still experiencing these issues, and it sometimes feels hypocritical to talk about mindfulness and self-acceptance as if I’ve got it all figured out. I don’t have it figured out.
But maybe that’s the point.
Accepting yourself while being in the midst of the healing journey instead of waiting for the finish line is hard. It feels wrong to preach about self-love when some days I still can’t stand looking in the mirror.
A perfect example is the photo of myself I used for this article. You wouldn’t believe how much stress I had while trying to look as perfect as possible during the photo shoot, just trying to get promo content for a song I was releasing a few years back. There was probably a thousand pictures taken, and I despised the way I looked in almost all of them.
So much work to hide the things I was insecure about and thankful to Photoshop for clearing up any perceived imperfections. I wish it didn’t take these steps to feel good about myself and it gives me a lot of shame.
Another situation was in 2017 when this still-shot below, taken from a clip in a music video, was used as the main photo in a prominent local news article. It took a lot of work to make that video and to get that press.
They did nothing wrong and only said positive things about my music, but I felt so exposed by the image that I refused to even advertise it.
Sure, maybe they could of chose something more flattering, but how were they to know about my own body dysmorphia?
I couldn't even watch the video anymore because of how the imperfections I perceived in myself.
Who was I doing this for? What opinions was I even worried about?
How do you embrace yourself when the cobwebs are still being cleared? How do you find peace when the storm hasn’t passed?
But there has been progress since then and I’m proud of myself for that.
Throughout different chapters of my life, I’ve found people I’m so grateful to call dear friends. Being around them has really helped.
If there’s any advice I can give, it’s that if an individual or social group makes you feel bad about yourself in any way, they are not worth your time. Or if you want to enhance an existing relationship, it’s important to take the time to express how you feel, no matter how small the insecurity or subject. If they don’t accept you or give you the time to listen and hear you out, then that’s their own loss.
Your experiences are valid. There is a safe space for you somewhere, and you deserve to be seen and accepted fully.
Beginning to play music and finding an expansive community of musicians was also a good outlet for me. These experiences became a sanctuary for me, a place where I could channel my emotions and find a sense of belonging. I could be vulnerable around my bandmates, even if a lot of this wasn’t something I talked openly about earlier on.
Performing live was certainly a double-edged sword because it felt so good to play in front of an audience while also being terrified of being exposed, thinking others could potentially see all these flaws that I was seeing. This fueled social anxiety to the point that I had to be pretty drunk to even amuse the idea of getting on stage or interacting with others.
Even if I wasn’t a full-blown “addict,” these things still caused issues that would regularly make these insecurities even worse.
Finding Peace Beyond the Physical
In addition to the support of friends and music, mindfulness practices and spirituality have played a significant role in my journey toward self-acceptance and self-worth.
Embracing spirituality has provided me with a deeper sense of peace and understanding, allowing me to see beyond the physical insecurities that have plagued me for so long.
These practices, whether it’s meditation or simply spending time in nature, have offered me moments of clarity and connection. This journey is not a solitary one. It is in these moments that I am reminded that I am more than my physical appearance; I am a part of something greater, a universal whole where imperfections are not only accepted but celebrated.
This path has also encouraged me to practice self-compassion. Understanding that we are all on a journey, each with our own struggles and triumphs, has helped me be kinder to myself. It has taught me that my worth is inherent, not contingent on meeting societal standards of beauty or perfection.
Reflecting in the Present
All of this is interesting because right now, I am still attempting to see myself past these insecurities through the eyes of those who love me.
When I am in an anxious spiral regarding any of this, my fiancé always reminds me in the calmest ways that I am perfect just the way I am. It doesn’t matter if I’m worrying about my forehead, my hair, my skin, or the million other things I’ll get caught up in, she always reassures me, and it’s such an immediate weight off my shoulders.
Recently, I’ve also found the strength to be vulnerable enough to go for a walk with my hair combed back or parted in a different way, trying to slowly lean towards self-acceptance. I even had a friend jokingly say it’s “classy,” like I’m some type of aristocrat.
It feels good to be told these things, but I’ve never been able to view it fully through their lens. I know the healing must come from within and its a slow process.
It’s scary to think of still holding onto these feelings for my eventual wedding day or even being on my deathbed. I remember waking up from my first heart surgery in 2022, and one of the first things I asked for was a beanie so I didn’t need to worry about feeling exposed.
The fact that I could go through an extremely traumatic experience and survive but still have these insecurities linger is heartbreaking.
The truth is, it’s a continuous process. It’s about finding small victories in everyday moments, like letting someone see you without hiding behind a hat or speaking openly about your struggles.
It’s about surrounding yourself with people who uplift you and finding outlets, like music, that allow you to express your true self. It’s about understanding that healing is not a destination but a journey, one where the cobwebs may never fully disappear, but the light that shines through them becomes brighter and stronger.
So here I am, still on this path, still figuring it out, and still trying to clear the cobwebs. And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe it’s enough to keep moving forward, to keep sharing, and to keep striving for a clearer, more self-accepting view. Because in the end, it’s not about reaching the finish line — it’s about learning to dance in the rain along the way.
