Growing Up Not ‘Pretty Enough’: A Nigerian Girl’s Journey to Self-Worth

How beauty, bias, and becoming shaped the way I saw myself and how I’m rewriting the story.

From the very young age of 5, I heard in many small but clear ways that I wasn’t conventionally beautiful. It didn’t do much for my self-esteem. I grew up watching movies that quietly told me the same thing over and over: that beauty was the most important thing a girl could have, right after “good character.” I was also pretty sheltered, so I watched a lot of Barbie movies. And even in those pink, sugary worlds, the standard was obvious. You had to be light-skinned, slim, petite, and have long, flowing hair.

I was none of that. I was dark-skinned with a permanent scowl, what people now call RBF. I wasn’t slender. My hair was short and thin like my mother’s, and I hated it. I couldn’t pack it into a bun because it had no volume, and brushing it out didn’t help. It never stayed in place. I would go to sleep and pray to wake up as someone else. A beautiful princess. One who made people stop and stare. One who was adored just for existing.

Instead, I grew up learning how to be sharp mouthed. If I couldn’t be beautiful, I could be quick. If I couldn’t get the kind of attention other girls got, I would earn mine. With words. With wit. Before you got a chance to say two things, I had already said ten. Maybe twenty. I didn’t know it then, but I was performing. Trying to be seen in ways I thought I could control. I got called confident a lot, but my confidence came from a place of pretending not to care.

The first time I started to feel even slightly beautiful was in SS1. My body changed. Boys noticed. Their attention felt like approval and honestly at the time it felt good. When I got to the polytechnic, makeup became my safety net. I didn’t go anywhere without it. I woke up early every single day just to do my face. I truly believed my features needed fixing before they could be worth looking at.

Now in my mid-twenties, I’m not hungry for male attention anymore. I’ve seen what it really is. What has stayed with me, though, is the realization of how real pretty privilege is. And how little we talk about it.

Last year broke me in more ways than I expected. I got robbed just days before my birthday. That shook me and sent me into a spiral. I started to think I was unlucky with birthdays, I also gained a lot of weight, my face got burnt, and I had the worst hyperpigmentation of my life. I had started doing better financially, but I couldn’t enjoy any of it. My body didn’t feel like mine. I remember standing in front of my mirror in December and crying. I weighed 97kg. My clothes didn’t fit anymore. My face looked different. My self esteem was completely gone.

So I decided to change what I could. Not because I hated myself, but because I didn’t want to keep feeling that way. In June 2025, I now weigh 84kg. I feel healthier. I look better. I still want to lose more weight as my goal weight is 65-70kg, but something strange has started to happen. People treat me differently again. The same writings, the same sense of humour, the same work that existed before are now being praised louder. Doors get held open. People compliment me more. Some look longer than they used to. I’m getting more attention, more kindness, more softness than I did when I really needed it. I joked about being pursued on the road from work a while ago while discussing with my friends, but it has become such a regular occurrence since then that I do not even mention it anymore.

And that hurts a little. Because I haven’t changed that much. Only the packaging has. And even though I understand it, it still stings.

Back then, I didn’t love myself. But now I’m learning to. And not just because people clap more. I’m trying to see myself without waiting for the world to agree. Because if I don’t, I’ll start chasing a version of me that’s easier for others to like.

I still use skincare products. I still want clearer skin. I still want to reach my goal weight. But not because I think I’m not enough. Not anymore. I do it now from a place of strength. A place of care. A place of softness. I’m learning to care for myself more, not for the approval of people but for a true sense of self worth.

I’ve spent so many years trying to become the beautiful girl. The princess. The one who gets chosen. Now I just want to be. Loud in rooms that welcome me. Quiet in ones that don’t. Soft in love. Honest in friendship. And whole in whatever skin I’m in.

Because the truth is, I’ve always been worthy.

The world just took a little longer to notice.