“If you want me to hide any photos, let me know”, one of my best friends messaged me after sending me the link to his wedding album.

It was a gorgeous day; a sweet, intimate ceremony, and I was fortunate enough to be one of the bridesmaids.

Despite all this happiness and joy, he knew that I would be worrying about how I looked in the photos.

I really hated my face, and I hated how it looked in some of the photos, but more than that, I hated that he knew to even suggest that to me. It was thoughtful and considerate – but also so, SO miserable.

I really couldn’t keep going on like this.

I knew I wasn’t great in front of cameras but the rush of fear that ran through my body every time I wasn’t the one clicking the shutter was getting out of control, making even the most special occasions a place of anxiety.

I can’t even tell you how it started

I wouldn’t say I once loved my appearance, but for a long time I just didn’t care. I knew that my features were nice, my family is made up of beautiful women, and in my early 20s I was able to get free drinks very easily.

At some point during the pandemic, though, I really started to hate my face. I would hide from mirrors and delete photos my partner had lovingly taken of me – candid shots of me reading, or even just snuggling with a cat.

I cried at pictures taken of me. My friends stopped taking them, or, at the very least, stopped showing me.

I called myself ugly constantly.

I did like selfies, though.

Selfies were different. I controlled the angle, the filter, the pose. When taking selfies, I finally had control over........

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