In this edition of My Beauty Confessions, our confessor opens up about hiding her looks to make others feel comfortable and why she’ll never do it again.
When it comes to My Beauty Confessions, few stories are as delightfully honest and hilariously relatable as this one. For this week’s confessor, being beautiful wasn’t always a badge of honour; it was something to shrink from, apologise for, even hide. But like every good glow-up story, there’s a plot twist and a Bridgerton reference to crown it.
From an early age, society teaches women to exist within a strange tension. Be beautiful, but be humble about it. Accept compliments, but meekly and with dishonest modesty. Look good, but pretend like you don’t know you do. I used to play along, smiling shyly when told I looked beautiful, as though it wasn’t something I’d already seen in the mirror.
For years, I believed I had to tone it down until someone tried to “humble” me with the old line: “I want to tell you ‘you’re beautiful’, but I don’t want it to get to your head.” I remember replying, “I have a mirror.” That single moment felt like breaking a spell. It was an awakening to the power of owning my beauty without apology. I’ve never forgotten the shock on his face at my audacity.
That same rebellion lives in this week’s confessor. She’s spent much of her life dimming her light to make others more comfortable. Now, she’s unlearning that shame and choosing to step fully into that light.
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From wallflower to the beautiful diamond of the season
“When I was younger, beauty was always something I was ashamed of,” she begins. “I had aunties who would say, ‘this one should do beauty contests,’ and I would always cringe.” In a home full of girls, being singled out for her looks caused tension. “My mum didn’t help as well; she would fight those aunties, and I’d feel bad for causing all that drama.”
Her teenage years, spent in an all-girls school and later a federal university, only deepened that discomfort. “I had so many clashes with my friends about stealing the spotlight,” she says dryly.
That line hits home for me. In secondary school, I couldn’t articulate how weird it was to be given “Ebony” awards. I was always the “dark beauty,” never just the most beautiful, and expected to be grateful for it. They often tied the compliments to my skin tone, as though I needed a disclaimer. For me, being dark-skinned and beautiful was the exception, never default; thus, it was always open for debate.
Like me, our confessor has rewritten the rules. “I’m in my 30s now and no one can tell me anything,” she says. “If my shine is blinding you, you go dey alright.” It’s a quiet win, one that’s evident in the way she speaks of unlearning self-consciousness. “There are times I want to reduce the effect, but I remember the self-consciousness and pain I faced making other people feel more comfortable. Now I see beauty as a gift that connects me with people so they can see the rest of me.” In true Bridgerton fashion, she says with flair, “I made myself a wallflower, but now I’m the diamond of the season wherever I go.”
What she’s never said out loud
One of the most moving parts of her confession is her honesty about self-perception. “I’m objectively one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen,” she says plainly. And yet, this wasn’t always something she could admit, not even to herself. “I used to be scared to think that way, afraid God would send lightning to strike me or I’d get plagued with acne — this actually happened,” she laughs. “But I’ve learned that it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I didn’t create myself.”
That fear of punishment for being confident is one so many of us carry, shaped by cultures that equate confidence in women with arrogance. The discomfort around beauty isn’t just about how others see us; it’s about how we’re taught to see ourselves. She sums it up best: “I used to be scared of it. Now I just accept it.”
While she’s fully embraced her face, the journey with her body is ongoing. “I’m a thick mama,” she says. “Rihanna always said you can’t have a butt without a gut. I’ve struggled to accept the transition from a size 8 to a 14, but I’m working on loving myself till I get to my goal weight.”
This is painfully relatable. The pressure to remain the same size across the decades of our lives is unrealistic, yet still expected. Her refusal to choose between acceptance and ambition is deeply refreshing. Both can be true; she can love herself and want to feel better in her body.
Read also: My beauty confession: I tried toning my skin to hide my stretch marks
Being beautiful and owning it
Our confessor’s wish is for more women to understand that being beautiful doesn’t mean you’re not deep, smart or kind.
She remembers the exact moment she realised just how much presence she held. “At my entrance exam into a mixed private school, the male SS2 students had a jaw-dropping moment when they saw me. I was so uncomfortable.” However, that moment stayed with her. “I didn’t think it was that deep. But I guess it was. Whenever I’m doubting my sauce, I go back to that moment. Priceless!”
We all have one fleeting moment when someone’s gaze makes us feel seen. Sometimes, that’s all it takes to plant a seed of belief that eventually grows into confidence. In that confidence is the knowledge that beauty doesn’t diminish your other qualities.
“Beauty is for everyone,” she says simply. Whether you’re loud about it or still finding your voice, beauty isn’t a finite resource. It is expansive, emotional and yours to define.
For many of us, learning to believe we’re beautiful without conditions takes years. But the journey is worth it. Because once you stop apologising for being beautiful and trying to make others comfortable at your own expense, the freedom is unlike anything else.
