Alien Boy to Adored: A Journey from Self-Criticism to Self-Love

When I was a kid, I was called “alien boy.”

You see, I was born with pointy ears—sharp, elf-like tips that made me stand out when all I wanted was to blend in. I remember the sting of those words in preschool and kindergarten, long before the bullying would shift to gay-bashing and slurs. But looking back, the pain felt the same. That early wound of not fitting in—not because of something I did, but simply because of how I looked—cut deep.

The summer before first grade, when my parents asked what I wanted for my birthday, I broke down and begged them to fix me. I wanted surgery to make my ears “normal.”

And honestly, I still don’t fully understand how they did it. We were a lower-middle-class family with three kids and just enough for Hamburger Helper and canned vegetables—but somehow, my parents found a way. By the first day of first grade, I had rounded ears and a beaming smile to match. When the first bully yelled “alien boy,” I tilted my head to give him a peek—and he looked genuinely confused. For a day or two, he backed off.

But of course, the bullies found other names. Other insecurities to exploit.

And eventually, that new-ear-induced confidence faded.

Ironically, as an adult with an affinity for gamer boys, every one of my boyfriends has said the same thing: “You had your Zelda ears chopped off?! That would’ve made you even hotter!”

Why am I sharing this story?

Because the words we tell ourselves matter the most.

There will always be a tactless family member with unsolicited comments about our bodies. Some guy at the gym with an opinion no one asked for. But the words that echo in our minds—when we’re alone, staring in the mirror—those are the ones that shape us.

As a child, the bullies’ voices hurt. But not as much as my own belief that I was somehow insufficient. That belief didn’t disappear after surgery. It just evolved.

Too pale. Too skinny. Nose too big. Teeth too yellow. Then later: moles. Hairlines. Body hair. A softening stomach. Climbing clothing sizes. Every stage came with new reasons to feel less than.

And here’s the truth: I look back now at old photos—tight little body, radiant skin, a glowing smile—and I’m floored. How did that John not know he was a complete heartthrob?! Even pictures from just a few years ago, 20 pounds ago, I wonder: Why was I so mean to myself? That John was adorable.

So I’ve realized that self-appreciation has to be a practice. Lifelong. Ongoing. Because perfection is an illusion, and Hollywood’s beauty standards are a trap.

We are beautiful and worthy now. In the body we’re in. As we are.

This body? It’s just the vessel for a radiant soul.

And when we look in the mirror, we have a choice: to pick ourselves apart, or to look deeper. To see the sparkle in our eye, the aura of our presence, the purpose we carry.

Thankfully, I’m now surrounded by people who remind me of this. When I make a comment about my belly or fall into a funk believing no man will ever find me attractive again (because I don’t look like a speedo-wearing twunk on Fire Island or Instagram), my coworker Sue tells me I’m beautiful. Every day. My best friend Emily reminds me I’m a catch. Even the clients I teach mirror work and body positivity to don’t see me through the same harsh lens I see myself.

So yes, they say we teach what we most need to learn. And I’m still learning.

Here’s the homework I’m giving myself—and sharing with you.

Because the wrinkles will deepen. The gray hairs will multiply. The skin will sag. And all of it will be proof of a life well-lived.

The more love we give ourselves, the more confidence we radiate—regardless of weight, attire, or hairline. And the more we shine our light, the more we invite others to do the same.

Because we are the majority—not the airbrushed bodies in magazines. And honestly, even at my “fittest and tannest,” I was more insecure than ever.

So here’s our practice:

Mirror Work and Reflection: A Ritual for Loving the Self

A Note If Mirror Work Feels Awkward

Let’s be real—this practice can feel weird. For some people, looking into a mirror and saying loving things out loud feels awkward or even unbearable. If that’s you, you’re not alone.

But awkward doesn’t mean pointless. Awkward means tender. It means you’re brushing up against something that wants to be seen.

Try easing in. Whisper the words. Make eye contact for just one breath. Let the discomfort be part of the process—and trust that with repetition, it softens.

And if you truly can’t do it today, that’s okay too. Here’s an alternative:

• Close your eyes and picture yourself—your face, your body, your spirit.

• Say the words in your mind or write them in a letter to yourself.

• The goal is still the same: meet yourself with kindness. The form is flexible.

  
  

You will need:

• A mirror

• A notebook or journal

• An open heart

  
  

Step 1: Look With Intention

Stand in front of the mirror. Look into your own eyes. Take three deep breaths.

Step 2: Speak with Kindness

Say aloud:

• “I am beautiful right now.”

• “This body is my home, and I honor it.”

• “I deserve to love myself fully.”

  
  

If that feels like too much, start softer:

• “I’m learning to appreciate myself.”

• “I’m open to seeing my beauty.”

  
  

Step 3: Journal Prompts

Take a few minutes to write your thoughts. Start with these prompts:

• What’s one thing I’ve criticized about my appearance lately?

• What would I say to a friend who felt that way about themselves?

• What’s one kind thing I can say to myself instead?

• What part of me—body or soul—needs more love today?

  
  

Step 4: Commit to the Practice

Write this phrase at the top of your mirror, your journal, or your phone wallpaper:

“The words I tell myself matter most.”

Repeat this practice whenever the inner critic gets loud.

Final Thought

You don’t have to earn your worth. You were born with it.

The ears. The belly. The skin. The laugh lines. They’re all part of the divine masterpiece that is you.

You are beautiful. You are radiant. You are enough.

And the more you remind yourself of that, the more the world will believe it too.

Let’s choose the words that matter most. Let’s choose love. Let’s start now.

—John