I handed the phone back to my brother, unable to look at the pictures. ‘Take it again,’ I said. He sighed, knowing the ritual. It was important for me to get the ‘perfect’ photo, but every image disappointed me. This wasn’t about his photography skills. It was about my body dysmorphia, a mental health condition I was diagnosed with last summer.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt ugly. My mixed heritage—half-Egyptian, half-Scottish—felt like a curse, creating a face I perceived as hideous. My features seemed wrong: a prominent nose, small eyes, and a strange mix of freckles and olive skin. Even as a child, I compared myself to other girls, wishing I looked ‘normal.’
Body dysmorphic disorder (BDD) is a condition where you fixate on perceived flaws in your appearance, ones others might not even notice. It often centers on the face but can impact the entire body. People with BDD spend excessive time comparing themselves, hiding their perceived flaws, checking their reflection, or even avoiding mirrors altogether. It can significantly impact your life, so seeking help from a doctor is crucial.
My insecurities amplified in my teenage years. Negative comments about my looks left me feeling embarrassed and alone, leading to constant obsessions with things like my hair length. I’ve always kept it long, hating the way it looked when it grew out to my shoulders. My face became a battleground, fixating on my forehead lines, uneven nostrils, and ‘weird’ lips. As I aged, my dysmorphia expanded to my entire body, seeing it as misshapen and flawed. I felt like a stout woman with no waistline and an aged face beyond my 32 years. Ironically, I could see beauty in other women, but not myself.
This impacted my relationships profoundly. Dating was a nightmare, as I couldn’t understand why any man would be attracted to me. I often assumed they were seeking easy sex or were desperate. Even in relationships, I believed my partner was lusting after other women or fantasizing about them during intimacy.
My only solace was dressing up, doing my hair and makeup perfectly, taking endless selfies, and posting them online. It gave me a fleeting sense of beauty, but it was a facade.
Behind the ‘vanity,’ I spent hours examining each photo, dissecting it for flaws. Even when people called me ‘stunning,’ I didn’t believe it. I’d politely thank them while secretly scrutinizing my nose or arms. I often deleted the photos entirely, longing for just one moment of genuine self-acceptance.
Desperate for a solution, I considered surgery (though I couldn’t afford it) and spent hundreds on cosmetics: Botox, hair dye, body-shaping underwear. Nothing offered lasting satisfaction. At my lowest point, I contemplated disfiguring my face.
Finally, I sought therapy. My therapist diagnosed me after I drew a picture of how I saw myself—a distorted, lumpy monster. He explained that I was seeing a different reality in the mirror than what I actually looked like. My therapy focused on combating these distorted perceptions.
I stopped using FaceApp, an app I used to ‘smooth’ my face or lengthen my hair. My therapist praised this as a significant step, highlighting the dangers of apps that allow us to manipulate our appearance. It feeds into body dysmorphia by creating a false reality.
Therapy helped me live more in the moment, breaking the cycles of obsession. I take fewer pictures of myself and no longer strive to alter them. I realized I didn’t want to waste my life feeling miserable about my appearance. I wanted to enjoy it and experience life without being held back by my insecurities.
While I still have difficult days, I can now recognize that experiences like traveling with my children or reading a good book are more valuable than fixating on my perceived flaws.
It’s been a challenging journey, but I’m learning to love myself a little more each day. My goal is to one day feel truly beautiful in my own skin, to look in the mirror and genuinely smile. And most importantly, I want my sons to grow up loving themselves, unlike my own experience.
My story is a testament to the strength and resilience of the human spirit. It is a reminder that even in the darkest of times, hope and healing are possible.
