The day I graduated was one of the proudest days of my life. I’d pushed through four tough years of university, with both a physical disability and serious depression trying to drag me down, and I’d come out the other side to graduate with distinction.
And when we were looking at the photos afterward, all my mother could say is that she wished I hadn’t gotten my hair cut, because my face looked too round in the photos.
You know what? I normally care way too much about how I look, and how other people think I look. I don’t like my looks. And I’m not good at taking criticism. But that day, I didn’t care. Because I’d achieved something fantastic, and I was proud of myself.