Embrace The Cringe

There’s a photo of me I have long hated: a sixth-grade yearbook shot with the pink-and-purple laser background everyone loved in the early ’90s. The girl in the picture sits with her arms softly folded and looks straight into the camera — and straight into my soul. She is awkward, at that age when a new body feels frighteningly unfamiliar. A sprinkle of acne hints at the skin troubles to come in high school. Her smile is closed-lipped and self-conscious, an attempt to look like someone who isn’t a dork (which is why I removed my red Sally Jesse Raphael glasses for this photo).

For years that picture was my nemesis. Whenever a box of family photos surfaced, I’d snatch it out of view and shove it to the bottom. Still, I never threw it away. A few years ago my then-new boyfriend (now husband) joined my family for a photo night, and of course the picture surfaced again. Days later I walked into his apartment and found the very same awful photo on his refrigerator, framed. We were doubled over laughing lor several hours as we compared our adolescent insecurities. I realized, with surprise and gratitude, that he had embraced that mortifying image with compassion.

That made me ask why, after more than thirty years, the photo still made me cringe. We are often cruel to our younger selves. Looking at the picture brings back shame and embarrassment: the uncertainty of growing up, the desperate effort to fit in. Her expression seems to say, silently, “please think I am good enough.” Feeling “other” in middle school is excruciating. When painful memories rise, we tend to turn against our younger selves — thinking we should have known better, acted differently, or avoided mistakes. We forget how little experience we had to make sense of complex emotions, difficult situations, and other people’s behavior.

With limited experience, children internalize rejection and ridicule. Whether it’s a parent’s inability to show love or a classmate’s cruel words, we often build self-narratives that mirror those wounds: I am ugly, incapable, unlovable. Those lies can fuel years of self-loathing and self-sabotage. That photo reminded me of the time I felt most vulnerable, when I began building the walls around my heart that I thought would protect me. She was doing the best she could with the tools she had.

Now the terrible, no-good, very-bad picture hangs on the wall beside my vanity. I haven’t lost the cringe entirely, but when I look at her I do so with more experienced eyes and imagine what I would say to her if I could. I tell her the dreadful moments will pass, that better days lie ahead, and that she is actually a pretty cool person with much to offer, even if others (including herself) didn’t see it then. I tell her about a future filled with things she couldn’t imagine at the time: love, acceptance, and a growing peace in her heart that she is indeed "good enough". This practice hasn’t changed the past, but it has made it easier to accept what happened and has lifted burdens from her small shoulders.

We all carry a wounded child within. I’d bet yours would appreciate being seen anew, with more loving eyes. How old are you in the picture? What was happening in your life? How were you trying to make sense of the world with the limited understanding you had then? And how much of that still sits on your shoulders today? The psychological work can feel daunting, but I believe in you. If you’re up for it, let’s work together — maybe you can write a different ending and find peace with yourself after all.