You know how, when you’re young, you acquire these nicknames? Names from family or friends that only they or a handful of people call you.
Growing up, I had a few of them (mostly just wordplays on my given name, like “K” or “Kierst”), but, no matter the name, these nicknames gave me a deeper sense of friendship and belonging – after all, not just anyone uses a nickname.
But there was this other nickname – a name that truthfully only one person ever called me, and nobody else even knew about or heard. A name I absolutely hated, but as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t get rid of it, even though the person who gave it to me was…me.
Meet Plain Jane
I used to think of myself as Plain Jane.
In some weird way, I liked that the name rhymed. At least if I didn’t like the meaning behind it, it was clever enough to rhyme, you know?
I can’t remember exactly when this name was born, though it was probably sometime around middle school, as that’s when many girls start having self-deprecating thoughts. But once I had it, it stuck around for years.
I’m sharing the full story of how I finally made peace with Plain Jane (and what the process taught me about self-acceptance) over on my Substack. Head over there to read how I transformed my relationship with my inner critic and discovered what it really means to accept yourself exactly as you are.
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