I have always loved spending time outdoors. I was often referred to as a tomboy growing up. I would spend hours outside meandering through the hills I grew up in. I thoroughly investigated every tree, plant, and fungus. I would dig holes in the dirt for no reason other than to see how deep I could go.

Not too much changed as I got older. For most of my adult life, I judged a good day by how dirty I was by the end of it. A day on the mountain bike meant shins covered in dirt. It also meant a few splashes of mud on your face if it had rained in the few days prior. If it had rained too much to be on the dirt trails, then you took to the road. The skinny tires would provide a constant spray of rainwater and road grime up to your knees. Hiking was even better for a full body coating of whatever the outdoors wanted to cover you in. Some days the mud would be so thick it would suck the shoe off your foot. Scooting across creeks on fallen trees and climbing over and under anything crossing the trail meant dirt on your pants and leaves in your hair. All these things, you wore like a badge to the local pub or pizza joint to show everyone how hard you had worked that day and more importantly, how much fun you had.

At the end of the day, I would come home and clean myself up. Nothing was better than a long, steaming hot shower to blast the dirt and mud off. Even if it had been a ninety-degree day, something about the hot water was rejuvenating to me. In the shower, I would shave my legs every day for no reason other than I loved to feel the smoothness of them. I would rub a pumice stone over any callouses or thickening skin on my feet. Stepping out of the shower, I would dab myself dry with a towel being careful not to rub and pull on sensitive areas of skin more prone to stretching and wrinkling. Once dry, every inch of my body was covered in lotion. I would dab on eye cream and blot serums onto my face. Finally, I would cover my feet in cream before donning my socks. I loved my body. It went the extra mile for me every day and, in turn, I cared for it.

I have never been a beauty queen. I never strived to be. I did, however, enjoy being pretty. I loved being the girl who could be covered in mud in the afternoon, then two hours later show up in a summer dress with cute sandals and crimped hair. I was confident either way.

Multiple sclerosis takes so much away from you It has taken a while for me to realize one of the hardest knocks I have received has been on my self-esteem. The inability to care for myself the way I was once able to has left me in a body that is becoming less and less recognizable. The little things that I did each day or week to feel better about myself, I no longer have the energy or am simply unable to because of my disabilities.

Gone are my silky legs and smooth feet. Shaving is now saved for days I am able to better grip a razor. Even then it is a precarious task that often leads to a small pink stream going down the shower drain. The inability to balance on one foot has left me incapable of tending to the bottoms of my feet. I still make attempts post-shower by sitting on the floor or the side of the tub, but these efforts are mostly futile.

Gone are the hot showers I loved so much. Standing in a stream of hot water for twenty minutes is detrimental to being able to do anything afterward. Post-shower also looks a lot different as half of my body gets to air dry due to my difficulty in gripping a bath towel.

Gone are sandals worn with cute summer dresses. My footwear is limited to whatever my AFO will fit into which is mainly tennis shoes sized too big so to accommodate the footplate of the brace. The most I am able to do with my hair is comb it with my left hand. On a good day, I can prop my right elbow up on the towel rack to keep that arm steady and high enough to at least form a loose ponytail.

There are other countless little details. The inability to use tweezers means my eyebrows grow as they wish. The inability to use fingernail clippers with my right hand means the nails on my left hand are always uneven and jagged. My toenails are even worse. The tinted cream I applied to my face every morning is dried up and gone. Now, I go with whatever cream or serum I may or may not have applied to my face before bed the night before. Even most makeup has become too dangerous to attempt. Eye shadow is difficult and mascara wands are a total hazard.

I pass mirrors and look away as quick as I can. I have changed so much in the last two years. The bags under my eyes and the wrinkles around them are foreign to me. Considering the damage stress has caused to the inside of my body, it only makes sense it would wreak havoc on the outside as well. The few grey hairs that streaked my head before have now multiplied into straggly broken pieces that stick out in precarious angles all over.

The cute clothes that I wore before are now too difficult to pull on and off. Even yoga pants will drive me to tears as I get stuck in them when I am unable to push my weak leg into them or pull them up with my useless hand. I wear the same baggy clothes over and over. That is also in an attempt to hide the other physical changes my body has gone through since being unable to tolerate the level of exercise it once endured. I do not even shop for new clothes anymore. It is a depressing endeavor that leaves me sadder than when I started.

You can go ahead and remind me that it is what is on the inside that counts. I won’t disagree with you. Inner beauty shines through. Overall, I feel I am a good person. One of my greatest joys in life is uplifting and encouraging others to feel better about themselves. Nothing about that, though, changes the face I see looking back at me in the mirror. A face that is completely unrecognizable from who I was two years ago.

I miss feeling good about myself. I miss having confidence in my appearance. I miss having high self-esteem. For the most part, I really just miss feeling pretty.