The beast of imposter syndrome, conspicuously hiding amongst my thoughts like two kids in an oversized trench coat, is a constant voice reminding me I am not good enough. My inferiority complex has taken over my thoughts. Telling me I don’t belong in a private school among the wealthy.

Ever since I was little, I was surrounded by strangers. In many spaces, I was one of the only Black kids, and definitely the only Black girl. Being the minority fueled my desire to fit in. I hated my kinky hair, begging my mom to straighten it and let me go blonde. I started forcing my voice into an intense Valley accent, its highs and lows contradicting the rough consonants that came with my native New York accent. My love for music diluted, and I replaced my loud noise music with poppy lyrics and catchy beats. Piece by piece, I had begun to lose everything that made me unique.

Although I had begun to make friends, people that I deemed as cool, I felt as though a piece of me was missing. Like the person they had grown to know was a stranger, an empty carcass with no real personality inside it.

As I grew older, my taste stayed the same. I still dress in pastel pinks, blues and yellows. No matter the struggle I initially went through, I love the way I dress. I have grown to love my natural hair, finding new styles to twist and braid my curls into. While these insecurities in my younger years have definitely had a negative impact on how I am today, my experiences have shaped myself and my confidence in a unique way that has integrated all the phases in my life.

Nia Robert, age 15, Polytechnic School