More Than a Body: a Story of Worth and Healing

There was a time I believed my worth lived in how I looked. Like many young women, I had been trained—by the women before me, by society, and by the competitive world I found myself in—to believe that being beautiful, polished, and physically “ideal” was the gateway to being loved, accepted, and enough.

I entered the world of pageants as a dancer, full of creative expression and heart. But I quickly learned that my talent wasn’t what mattered. I didn’t fit the mold of what was celebrated. I wasn’t the blonde-haired, blue-eyed singer that consistently took home the crown. I was told I looked “too ethnic.” I didn’t have the “girl next door” appeal. I wasn’t Miss American Pie.

Behind the scenes, there were mind games, too. During rehearsals, we were told to wear our gowns for lighting and perform the talent we’d be doing the night of the pageant. But when the actual event came, many of the other contestants changed—new gowns, new performances—while others watched from the wings in confusion and shock. It was intentional. A subtle, psychological tactic to throw competitors off balance.

I wore the same gown and the same costume for my performances. There were no funds for anything new. The young women with financial backing had the ability to show up with fresh looks and polished upgrades each time. It was just one more way I felt like I didn’t measure up.

I remember the moment the winner was crowned. The instructions had been clear: “I don’t care how much you hate the winner, you go up and hug her at the end.” So that now-familiar scene of women rushing to embrace the crowned girl? Completely staged. Completely false.

The part of me that once believed in sisterhood over competition shrank into silence. My idealistic heart—always rooting for fairness and connection—felt betrayed.

Looking back now, I feel for that young woman who paraded her body across a stage, aching to be seen as worthy. She didn’t yet know the depth of her own spirit.

I did deep healing in therapy. I found and nurtured the parts of myself that felt unworthy, small, and not enough. I grieved. I unraveled the lies. And I reclaimed the truth.

Today, I help others do the same.

Comparing and competing are the killers of self-esteem.

They disconnect us from our truth and distort the way we see ourselves.

But we are more than a body.

More than a performance.



More than the roles we were trained to play.

Our worth is inherent. It’s not earned through beauty, approval, or applause.

And it’s never up for comparison.