A timer went off with an annoying ding, letting the class know it was time for partner activities. I scanned the room for my friends, only to find they were already partnered up. Great. As my peers were grouping together, I noticed a girl sitting alone. Her long legs didn’t fit beneath her desk, and her glasses magnified her eyes two times their normal size. She was new to our class and since there was no one else, I figured I’d ask to work on some problems with her. I pulled out a chair at the desk next to her and smiled. She acknowledged me by looking me up and down.

“You’re fat. I don’t want to be partners with you,” she spat at me. My brows furrowed together. I sat in shock, trying to comprehend what I had just heard. The letters F–A–T manifested into a serrated knife, slashing at my insides and leaving permanent scars.

One word. All it took was one word … and everything changed.

My insecurities grew and became a heavy burden. They were brought on by venomous remarks and weighed down even the simplest of tasks. My clothing suffocated me as I stared at the unrecognizable girl in the mirror. She was not the girl I knew.

I turned my eyes away from the girl in the mirror and turned on the faucet in hopes that a hot shower would melt away my pain. My shirt seemed to have shrunk within the last few days of wearing it. I didn’t remember it being that tight. The warm water greeted my skin and my mind ran rampant.

“You’re fat” swirled in my brain making me delirious with pain. Glancing down, I was met with rolls and stretch marks that I hadn’t seen until now. I fantasized about carving away my excess layer of insecurities. A loud knock on the door brought me back to reality, reminding me that I still hadn’t washed my hair.

One of the only places I felt truly comfortable was on stage, however even drama class brought its own set of challenges. After each performance, the actors addressed the class with what they had learned throughout the process of creating the scene. As I opened up to the class, I began by apologizing to my cast mates.

“I know I’m a pain in the butt to deal with, guys. I’m sorry I’m so closed minded,” I said, swallowing a lump in my throat. I wanted to say that I still felt where the knife left its mark in my skin. How it still stings when a tight shirt grazes my torso. Of course, I didn’t say this. But I wanted to.

“Never apologize for who you are!” my instructor interrupted. “You are a strong and beautiful woman who will go on to do great things,” she reminded me in front of the class. Her gentle words became a soothing salve melting into my wounds. Fresh aloe tingling my abdomen, and relieving the pain I had grown so used to.