Like most children, my first perception of beauty was portrayed by my mother, who had peroxide-blonde hair, smoked cigarettes to stay thin, and tanned regularly. In fact, my mother tanned so much that at one point in her second marriage, her then-husband actually bought her a tanning bed. Imagine being eight years old and growing up where there is a tanning bed in your house. (Note: They later divorced and mom did not get to keep the tanning bed, to her dismay.)

I also didn’t grow up using sunscreen regularly–it just wasn’t something that was ever promoted at home. With my mom’s constant obsession with tanning, I was exposed to the idea that “to be tan is to be beautiful.” There wasn’t a single discussion about sun safety. In fact, I don’t believe we even owned sunscreen–if we did, I certainly never saw it. There would be periods that I would play outside for hours at a time without sunscreen, never thinking twice about the fact I always burned and never tanned. I just assumed that my skin would eventually turn brown like my mother’s.

Each burn was painful, and I always went back to being pale, except for the new freckles which began to collect on my face, arms, knees, etc. Adults would comment on how cute my freckles were, but I hated them. I wanted a tan like my mother, I didn’t want freckles.

This desire became only more intense when the teasing at school became a regular occurrence, especially during middle school. One boy (who had a nice tan, of course) would call me “Ghost”; others would say I was ugly because of how pale I was, or ask if I was albino while they snickered to each other. I noticed that nearly all of the popular kids were tan, and cute boys apparently liked to talk to girls who were tan. (As exemplified by my sixth-grade crush who ignored me unless he needed an answer on a test.) This was a time in my life where I started to really compare myself with others, and all of a sudden wanting to be tan like my mother soon turned into wanting to be tan like the pretty girls.

I remember I asked my mother when I was 14 years old to let me start using tanning beds. I believed–in my infinite 14 year old wisdom–that if I couldn’t get tan by being outside under natural sunlight, then a tanning bed would do the trick. My mother agreed to my request without much of a second thought. She took me to the only tanning salon there was in the small town we were living in at the time and signed the necessary waivers (since I was underage) essentially giving permission for me to burn myself to a crisp if I so wished.

I went three times before I “gave up” the tanning beds (that would only be temporary), and it wasn’t a surprise that I burned each time, even though I had only stayed in the beds for about 6 to 8 minutes each. My skin simply couldn’t handle the intensity of the tanning bulbs. After each tanning session, I cried from the mix of physical pain from the burn and the emotional pain of wishing so badly that this time my skin would start to turn golden. (Note: I do not believe that my mother made the right parental decision in allowing me to tan at age 14, but she was not in the best state of mind most of the time due to alcohol and other issues; by age 15 I had moved in with other family members to be cared for.)

Around my junior year of high school I soon learned about tanning lotions and foams and sprays. This seemed like a painless (and safe!) alternative that could guarantee me the beautiful tan I had been chasing after. I tried every single one I could find. They were all from the drugstore of course, since I couldn’t afford any expensive fake-tan products or consistent spray-tan sessions on my income from my part-time, minimum-wage job. Unfortunately, nothing ever looked natural: either the color was too orange, or the product itself was blotchy/streaky, or my application in general was just plain bad.

There was one point in time that my clothing even became stained from hasty attempts to apply a fake-tan foam in the morning each day before I went to school. I actually kept this up for a few weeks, believing that I looked quite tan and beautiful–even though I wasn’t fooling anyone. It wasn’t until one day, after being caught in some rain before getting to school and heading into class, someone commented on me looking streaky. The rain had left literal streaks on my skin, exposing the fact I actually didn’t have a tan. I realized at that moment everyone had known the “tan” I was walking around with was not real and for some reason I felt extremely ashamed of myself. Equally embarrassed and exasperated, I threw away all my fake-tan products and took a long shower to try and scrub away my desperation to feel beautiful.

After high school I had a few more bouts with tanning beds including a full summer of using a tanning bed for about 4 or 5 minutes each time, 2 to 3 times a week–my “base tan” that I built was barely deeper than my natural ivory skin tone–I had pretty must just collected more freckles. At the age of 21 there was one tanning incident that left me so burnt that I became physically sick… as in, the pain made me throw up. (Sorry for the awful mental image!!) In that moment I wondered, have I gone too far this time? Was the danger of skin cancer worth my continued attempts to be tan?? I finally asked myself, why shouldn’t I feel beautiful for how I already look, pale skin and all?

I was tired of trying to fit a mold that someone else built. I realized that if I ever wanted to be truly happy, I needed to love myself as I am. This is my body that I am carrying with me the rest of my life and I realized that I need to take care of it. I had to make a decision on whether the danger of constantly trying to fit into one silly standard of beauty was worth it.

Learning to love myself as I am involved accepting the fact that I am fair-skinned, I honestly can’t hold a tan, and that is okay. I found role-models in women who have ivory skin. I read up on how to take care of my skin and began to wear a high-SPF every single day on my face and body. I stopped hating my freckles, too. They are just a part of me now. By picking up the sunscreen and giving up tanning forever, I gave myself permission to love the skin I’m in.