I went to university with someone I loved deeply.
Not in a romantic way — but a soulful one.
She was my friend, my person. We laughed, we studied, we grew up together in a foreign land far from home.
But there’s something I will never forget about her.
In the four or five years we were together, I never—not once—saw her bare face.
Not on a lazy Sunday.
Not during exam stress.
Not even at 5 a.m. for those early-morning classes.
She always wore makeup.
One day, I asked her why.
And I’ll never forget what she said.
“Nicole, I have scars on my face that I don’t want anyone to see.”
She said it like she was confessing a crime.
Quiet. Shameful.
As if her scars made her less human.
Less lovable.
Less enough.
Even her boyfriend laughed once and said,
“So when we get married, are you going to wake up at 4 a.m. to wear foundation before I open my eyes?”
She didn’t laugh.
She just said,
“I’ll wake up before you. I won’t let you see me like that.”
That story haunted me more than she knew.
Because I had my own quiet shame too.
For years, I couldn’t show my forehead.
Every hairstyle I picked had to hide it.
Bangs. Fringe. Side swoop.
Whatever it took — just cover it.
If you go through my photos from back then, you’ll notice it.
Always something draped over my face.
Always something hiding what I didn’t want the world to see.
We all have something we hide.
A scar.
A body part.
A childhood wound.
A failed attempt.
A messy truth.
Something we’ve told ourselves is too ugly.
Too much.
Too broken.
And so, we master the art of covering.
But here’s what time has taught me:
There’s a difference between protecting your peace and hiding your truth.
One heals.
The other suffocates.
You get to a point in life where you realise that nothing beautiful ever blooms under shame.
The very thing we think disqualifies us is often the thing that makes us most relatable. Most human.
Today, I wear my forehead out proudly.
It’s not because I became more confident overnight.
It’s because I realised: If I can’t love all of me, how can I expect the world to love me fully?
And to the girl still covering her scars — whether they’re on your face, your heart, or your past —
I want you to know:
You don’t need to be flawless to be worthy.
You don’t need to be hidden to be respected.
You don’t need to hide to be whole.
You are allowed to be fully seen.
Scars and all.
Let your story breathe.
Let your face shine.
Let your truth speak.
Because someone is waiting to see someone like them.
And that someone might be you.