Freckles
As a child I always believed my freckles were ugly. Characters in the books I read always lamented how plain and ugly their freckles made them. “Fair” was always something to aspire to. Mothers plied daughters with lotions and creams to lighten their complexions.
But I loved being outdoors in the sun, and with that came freckles.
When I lamented my freckles aloud in the hearing of others, adults around me reassured me they were “cute!” and that lots of people liked freckles. But I didn’t like freckles, and they were on my face, so it didn’t matter to me whether or not other people said they liked them. By then I had learned that well meaning adults lie, so I trusted the wisdom in my books instead. I longed to be old enough to wear makeup so I could hide them.
When I finally got to wear makeup, I swiftly learned that I needed a thick layer of foundation to even out the color of my skin, and my moles were still visible no matter their color because they made little bumps that looked like I was hiding acne. I also learned that makeup feels and smells gross to me, and that I didn’t have the patience or time in the mornings to put it on. I have never been a morning person.
Another thing I learned is that I look really weird without freckles on my face, especially when my arms and hands are still covered in them.
In high school I learned about body positivity, which felt as fake to me as the lies of well meaning adults. And eventually I learned about body neutrality, which fits me much better. I do love my body, but more for its functionality than for its aesthetics.
Although these days, I do find my freckles cute. I have a collection of moles on my cheek that comprise the constellation delphinus.