My phone read 5:30 a.m. as the alarm repeatedly blared into my ear. I sat up in my bed and looked around my room, laundry from two weeks ago slowly grew in the corner and food wrappers collected on my bed frame—a reflection of my disheveled mental state. I stepped into the shower, letting the steaming water wash over me.

Once I got out, I began. 

I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, avoiding bumps or loose strands at all costs. I forced concealer onto my face to cover the endless eye bags and “random” breakouts. I sprayed my Bath & Body Works Champagne Toast perfume which is now hard to smell without being reminded of these mornings. Choosing my outfit was the most important part. I skimmed my clothes, looking for something that screamed, “Your daughter is doing just fine,” for when my mom would ask me if I was alright for the third time that week. 

When I was finished, I stared at myself in the mirror for a while. I made sure I looked healthy. I had to look healthy. If nothing else, I looked healthy.

Moving to Houston before my freshman year was hard. It felt like I left my home back in Brenham, the “American-dream” small town just 72 miles north of Houston. It felt like I had to leave behind the version of me that my friends and family knew back home in order to fit in.

I was so quick to forget about the girl who fought for A’s in all her classes. I forgot about the girl who told her mom every detail of her day and more. I forgot about the girl who practiced her trombone in the band hall every day after school in eighth grade to make regionals. I forgot about the girl who didn’t care if she wasn’t “boy pretty”. I forgot about the girl whose friends would laugh at all her immature jokes and compliment her uncool outfits. I forgot about the girl who carried herself with pride and assurance. 

It got to a point where the only thing that mattered to me was being accepted by others at Bellaire. I let my grades slip, and I avoided any self-reflection by distracting myself with mindless gossip. I did whatever I felt would be the most normal thing for these new “friends” I had made. I became a reflection of them.

As you can imagine, I quickly began to hate everything about myself. I was disgusted with who I had become. It was like I was my own bully. I made fun of people’s outfits that I secretly wanted to wear, I poked fun at kids who worked hard for their good grades that I wanted again more than anything and I pulled down other girls for their true friendships that I wanted for myself.  

The most ironic part of it all was that while I was fighting for my life mentally, I couldn’t let anyone see it on the outside. I had this weird obsession with covering it up and making it look as if I was fine—especially around my mom: I didn’t want her to know I was suffering with something she had always taught me to avoid. She had raised me to create my support group, not mold myself to fit into one. I felt so guilty betraying the confident person she raised me to be. I would make up a false narrative of how I was adapting to my new school perfectly so she wouldn’t worry about me. I just wanted everything to go back to normal, and if I lied enough about it, then maybe it would become reality.

Everyone has faced the conflict of fitting in at some point in their life, and high school is notorious for it. But for some reason, I never thought I’d be a victim of it. Turns out, I wasn’t struggling with fitting in, I was struggling with not fitting in. It wasn’t until I came to terms with the truth: that I wouldn’t be fulfilled if I continued to reflect other people’s expectations and not fully embrace the things that really brought me joy like participating in theater, wearing whatever I wanted, and finding academic success exhilarating.  

Fortunately, summer arrived quickly, bringing with it the realization that I needed to recognize my self-worth. It wasn’t a lightbulb moment for me, but time away from my toxic environment finally gave me time for self-reflection, and I realized it had nothing to do with anyone else and everything to do with me and my lack of self-respect the whole time. 

I wish I had a more profound or in-depth solution to those struggling with finding where they belong. But the simple truth is, it starts with coming to terms with the body and soul you were born with and finding that inner love first. Only then can you feel whole, and the right friends will naturally find their way to you. 

About nine months after hitting my lowest point, I celebrated my quinceañera with my family and new friends. That morning I woke up at 7:00 a.m. I dressed myself in a poofy beige dress and wore a flower crown on top of my curled hair. I remember staring into my bathroom mirror before I left the house for service. I looked beautiful— and I felt worthy of it too.