I’ve worn glasses since I was 8 years old, all day long. I transitioned from plastic, pink frames at the age of 8 to the classic, sleek metal frames at the age of 18, covering every single era of glasses any teenager goes through. For most of my life, I never saw my glasses as a hindrance. I was content with wearing them all the time; they became a part of my face, and I would subconsciously push them up every few minutes as I took notes in class. When I entered my senior year of high school, I realized that it had gradually become “nerdy” along the way to have glasses. I would look around in class and see only 2-3 students who had glasses, with the rest either with perfect vision or contacts. As my senior year came to an end, I became increasingly insecure about the frames on my face and would have to skip out on any water-related events such as senior trips.
I soon grew fed up and realized that the only way to fix this problem was to give in and finally get contacts. I visited my optometrist, requested to be fitted for contact lenses, and waited five long weeks to finally receive a trial pair. But it wasn’t meant to be; I sat there at the doctor’s office for over two years, attempting to put the contacts onto my eyes. Each time, I would blink as soon as my finger approached my eye, resulting in the contact falling off of my finger. As I was leaving the office, eyes red from irritation and crying, I came to the conclusion that I would never be able to wear contact lenses and became even more conscious of the large, clunky frames on my face.
When I entered college, I tied my self confidence to glasses; to me, the glasses were a sign that I would never fit into the conventional standards of beauty and always be undesirable to those around me (dramatic, I know). Although I was aware it was not the first thing most people noticed, glasses were the only thing I was able to focus on around me, who was wearing them and how “nerdy” it made them seem. The fixation grew so much I had little motivation to dress up in the morning because I would never truly be more than a girl wearing glasses.
Once I turned 19, I fell into a phase of reinventing myself: I put myself out there, focused on my appearance, and finally, turned to contacts once again. My second time in the doctor’s office was just as bad as my first: I had convinced myself mentally that it would not be possible for me to ever wear contacts. I took the lenses home and promised myself that this time, it would work. I was a grown adult now; this was a piece of cake.
The next morning I woke up two hours before my morning class, bright and early at 9:00am. I got out of bed with a rush of motivation, that today would be the day I was going to finally put them on. I stepped into the communal bathroom and set up a station: napkins, contact solution, and my case. Airpods in my ears, I queued my get ready playlist and mentally prepared myself for the long journey ahead. I can’t count how many times the contacts fell on the ground, or in the sink, or got stuck in my eyelashes. Over and over, I would get close and inevitably, blink. On my 101th try, it finally happened. I had gotten them in! It had only taken me about 90 minutes of lost sleep to finally accomplish my lifelong dream.
Although it seems exaggerated, I do tie a large part of my self worth to my glasses. With them on, I am never able to feel confident in my appearance. While I am able to step back and realize that the mentality is toxic, my contacts have given me a newfound confidence, where I am secure in my appearance. I get to enjoy going out in social settings and being able to see the people around me, walk in the rain, and look people in the eye without being embarrassed that they are focused on my glasses. Now looking back, I have also learned to appreciate my glasses as a source of comfort, of the fact that sometimes, I am allowed to have a lazy day to myself.