"And your next Miss Michigan... Miss America... Miss USA is..." The crowd erupted into cheers, applause echoing through my television, sending waves of excitement into my living room. But deep down, I knew they would never call my name.

I wasn’t what my community or society deemed beautiful. I had pale skin, auburn hair, freckles, blue eyes, and nearly invisible, almost albino-like eyebrows. I stood out in every way—but not in the way that won pageants or admiration. Instead, I was the “freak,” the “weirdo.” I never felt like I belonged. I was mocked, teased, and ridiculed for my appearance, called names like “Carrot Top,” “Ginger,” “Vampire,” and worse. Everywhere I went, I was the only red-haired girl—the only one at the bus stop, in my classroom, my neighborhood, or even on the playground. There was no escape from being different.

I longed to look like the other girls at school, the ones I saw on TV or in magazines. But there was no one who looked like me—no role model to admire, no example to tell me that I was beautiful too. Over time, the weight of that realization began to crush me. I started to question my worth, my value. Depression crept in. I wanted to disappear, to be invisible. I buried myself in oversized hoodies, hoping they would hide me, but when you’re different, someone always notices. And they always make sure you know it.

As I struggled through my early teen years, I felt like an outcast, a black sheep. I was always picked last in gym class, never the girl asked to dances, never the one voted for prom queen. I had started to accept the idea that I was just meant to be on the outside looking in. I even wished—on stars, birthday candles, anything—that I could wake up with blonde or brunette hair, something more "normal."

Then, in seventh grade, everything changed.

An angel walked into my life in the form of a best friend. She saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself. “I love your red hair! It’s so pretty—I wish I had it!” she’d say, time and time again. I thought she was crazy. If only she knew how cruel the world could be. But she kept insisting, planting seeds of self-acceptance that slowly began to take root.

One day, she brought me a comic book, her face lit up with excitement. It was The Amazing Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends. On the cover stood a stunning red-haired heroine—Firestar. She was powerful, fearless, a crime-fighting force for good. For the first time, I saw someone like me. And she wasn’t being ridiculed—she was admired.

Something clicked. If Firestar could embrace her uniqueness, why couldn’t I?

From that moment, I started rewriting my own story. I tuned out the negativity and began celebrating what made me unique. I stopped hiding and started standing tall, realizing that my differences weren’t flaws—they were my strengths. I found confidence, self-worth, and a mission: to uplift, inspire, and help others who felt like I once did.

Because the truth is, we all have a light inside us—a gift that makes us shine. And the world doesn’t need more villains trying to dim that light. It needs heroes.

So be a hero in someone’s life. Stand strong, embrace your uniqueness, and never let anyone dull your sparkle. Rewrite the narrative. Take center stage. Be the leading character in your own story.

We’ve got this—together.

By: Sharnel Lea Rackham
(2/11/2025 @ 7:30 PM)