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During my sophomore year of high school, a language arts teacher unexpectedly grabbed my arm as I left class.
“Stop making that face,” she said.
“What face?” I responded, confused.
“You know the one — it could stop a clock.”
That moment has echoed in my mind for over twenty years. I walked away feeling disoriented and humiliated, questioning what I had done to deserve her harsh words. I always listened attentively, never interrupted, and regularly engaged in discussions.
For days, I stood before the mirror, scrutinizing my features. Was it my bold eyebrows and deep brown eyes? My bone structure? Maybe I made too much eye contact? I couldn’t figure it out.
So, I started to practice the “appropriate” kind of eye contact, occasionally looking away so my teacher wouldn’t see me as too intense. For months, I tried to soften my strong facial features: relaxed brows, a slight smile, and a tilted head to show curiosity.
Sound absurd? It is.
My conduct in class was commendable. I won’t justify my teacher’s behavior. As a woman in my forties now, I realize the message she intended to convey. She was saying my expressions were too much for her — and perhaps for others. At sixteen, I lacked the perspective to understand that my existence wasn’t meant to soothe anyone’s discomfort.
My external appearance has never aligned with my internal self, and it still doesn’t.
In college, a guy I fancied once told me I’d be beautiful if I smiled more. I refer to him as a boy because, in reality, that’s what he was. As I was figuring out romantic relationships, his words stung deeply, amplifying my self-doubt and anxiety.
As I sank deeper into a spiral of adolescent self-hatred, one thing became clear: society expected me to wear a smile at all times. People wanted me to feign authenticity.
The term “resting bitch face” (RBF) gained popularity in 2013, often used to describe women who appear irritated or angry when, in fact, they are just relaxed or content. It’s commonly thrown at women for not maintaining a perfect smile. How awful!
I’ve frequently been told my face appears harsh or unapproachable. Strangers assume I’m judging them, but trust me, I’m not. In fact, I couldn’t care less if you judge me.
I refuse to put on a fake smile to ease someone else’s discomfort. Call it resting bitch face if you like; to me, it’s just my face.
Authenticity is vital to me.
Statements like, “Stop making that face” and “Smile more” indicated that I didn’t quite fit in. It took me years to understand that my fear of rejection had led me to mold myself to others’ expectations. Breaking free from such a pattern requires honest effort.
I spent years pondering what I could change about myself. Distracted by what I wasn’t, I failed to appreciate who I actually was: a good listener, curious and engaged. The world needs more listeners! In a noisy society, there is ample room for quiet reflection.
The tranquility I’ve found is worth the perplexing interactions with my language arts teacher and that boy from college.
If you need someone who is present and patient, I’m your person. My love for people is immense; it can often feel overwhelming. You might not see it on my face, but trust me, it’s there.
I see you.
I notice your unspoken pain, your silent struggles, and the joy that lights up your eyes. I hear your words and the ones you leave unspoken.
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Search Queries:
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Summary:
For years, I’ve faced judgment for my facial expressions, often misinterpreted as unapproachable or angry. This started in high school and continued through college, teaching me that society expects women to constantly smile and appear inviting. I’ve come to realize that my true self doesn’t have to conform to the discomfort of others. Authenticity is important, and while my face may not reflect my inner warmth, I embrace my identity as a good listener who sees and hears the struggles of others.
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