I was clearing out my cupboard two weeks ago when I stumbled upon a stack of cards I’d been given over the past few years. In that pile was one that stood out because of its unusual A3 size. It was huge.

I scanned both sides before I realised it was from one of those exercises they had at leadership camps. You tape a piece of paper on your back, walk around and let people write things they admire about you.

There was this word that kept coming up: Confidence.

Reading it again after two years, a part of me felt flattered. But still there was this heavy pull somewhere in my chest. Am I really confident? I don’t feel like it, or at least I haven’t for a very long time.

For example, I’ve been feeling self-conscious of late. I was down with shingles, and pus-filled blisters had taken over one side of my face.

I’ve been feeling a growing discontentment about the way I look; I find myself constantly comparing myself to the many attractive people I’m constantly surrounded by. 

It dawned on me that the root cause of the discontent was a deep-seated insecurity. When I confessed this to the people close to me, a few of them said they were surprised that “someone like me” could struggle with low self-esteem.

It’s difficult for me to believe it now, but people tell me that there’s something about the way I carry myself that commands attention. They say it’s my demeanour and the way I hold my own. But I don’t see what they see.

I could be doing well in school, with flourishing friendships and actively engaged in church. But in the privacy of my own room, I look in the mirror and relentlessly pick out the flaws of my less-than-symmetrical face.

I was ridden with insecurities, constantly wondering if whatever I did was ever good enough. I strived hard for perfection in everything I did, thinking that it would make up for my 5/10 face. Perhaps it was my flesh’s way of trying to cover up my imperfections that came from within.

I strived hard for perfection in everything I did, thinking that it would make up for my 5/10 face.

Could who I am ever be good enough to override the way I look, I wondered. Could I ever find a joy and assurance in my identity, to the point that I don’t have to be preoccupied about the way I look on the outside?

The months leading up to my scare with shingles, I remember complaining about how my skin was getting from bad to worse. So when blisters started forming on top of a huge red patch on one side of my face, it was the worst thing I could imagine happening to me.

Desperate and ridden with anxiety, I lay in my bed and cried out to God. I felt the familiar grips of depression and my heart was troubled.

Midway through my prayer, I heard from Him. He wanted me to unroot the ungodly belief that I was unlovable because of how ugly I thought I was, both on the inside and outside. 

In His mercy, God was using my experience with shingles to teach me about how He saw me.

He was telling me not to brush Him off so easily, especially His reminder that He had created me fearfully and wonderfully, in His image. I had been taking His words too lightly though He took me very seriously.

As I rejected His view of me, my heart had grown hardened, and I had become apathetic to a lot of things in life. I was growing unhappier by the day, fuelled by a discontented and grumbling heart.

My heart was acquiring the same ugliness I wanted desperately to avoid; I had been blinded by self-centredness.
I was acting like a spoilt child.

God has His own definition of unfading beauty; it’s found in a gentle and quiet spirit (1 Peter 3:3-4). But my obsession with finding outward perfection had made looks my idol, making my heart anxious, constantly complaining.

God heard the murmuring in my heart; He knew He had my attention and that it was not time to spare the proverbial rod. I was disciplined that night and in my pain (both physically from the shingles and emotionally), I told Him that I was sorry for focusing on my “lack” and not on His faithfulness to me.

God — the One in whom I find my identity — is not concerned with outward appearances, but with the heart.

It’s so comforting to know that when we confess our shortcomings, He is faithful to restore (1 John 1:9). Out of His love for us, God disciplines at the perfect timing. 

With a heart which had somehow turned grateful, I was able to fall asleep that night knowing that God was in control. I felt peace in my heart; I had a Father who loved me enough, beyond what I look like, inside or outside.

Now, when I hear the whispers of insecurity and self doubt, I find myself constantly reminding my thoughts to be turned heavenwards.

I’m reminding myself that God — the One in whom I find my identity — is not concerned with outward appearances, but with the heart (1 Samuel 16:7).

He could have done absolutely nothing, but He saw me as worthy to live above depression and free from the shackles of insecurity, body image issues and low self-esteem. He was concerned with the state of my heart. That’s why He chose to love me gently, to teach me how to look at myself the way He looks at me: With love and joy.

Today, as I look in the mirror and see the pink patch of skin healing nicely over what was once gross and blister-filled, I’m reminded that all I want is to see more of Jesus in my reflection and not who I was before.

I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame. (Psalm 34:4-5)