The first time I truly felt beautiful was the first time I stopped hiding.
I lost my leg to cancer when I was eight years old. I grew up confident, but my confidence had nothing to do with how I looked. It came from who I was, what I’d been through, and how I showed up in the world. But when it came to beauty, I never quite saw myself in it. I didn’t see bodies like mine on billboards, in magazines, or walking down runways. Beauty felt like a club I didn’t have the membership card for.
For years I dressed to blend in. Long pants, neutral tones, a prosthetic that looked as close to a real leg as possible. I thought if I could look “normal” enough, maybe I’d feel like everyone else. But the truth was, I was hiding. Not because I was ashamed of my body, but because I’d never been shown another way to exist inside beauty.
Then one day, fifteen years after losing my leg, I decided to do something that scared me. I booked a photoshoot. It wasn’t for a campaign or a magazine, just for me. I wanted to create the images I’d never seen growing up. To show my body as it was, not how I thought it should be. I showed up with my prosthetic uncovered, no long pants, no attempt to hide what made me different.
I remember the nerves that morning. I was terrified I’d regret it, that I’d look at the photos and feel exposed in a way that would hurt. But when the camera started clicking, something shifted. It wasn’t about posing or trying to look a certain way. It was about showing up fully.
When I saw the photos for the first time, I cried. Not because I looked perfect, but because I looked real. I’d spent so long thinking beauty meant fitting a mould, but in those photos I could see that beauty was also courage, honesty, and acceptance. That was the moment I realised I didn’t have to hide to be beautiful.
It’s funny how the things we think will make us stand out are often the things that make us belong the most.
That shoot grounded me. It brought me home to myself in a way I hadn’t felt since before my diagnosis. I stopped trying to blend in. I started wearing shorts again. I began to speak more openly about what it’s like to live in a body that’s different, and the more I did, the more I realised how many other women had also felt left out of the definition of beauty.
I remember the nerves that morning. I was terrified I’d regret it, that I’d look at the photos and feel exposed in a way that would hurt. But when the camera started clicking, something shifted. It wasn’t about posing or trying to look a certain way. It was about showing up fully.
When I saw the photos for the first time, I cried. Not because I looked perfect, but because I looked real. I’d spent so long thinking beauty meant fitting a mould, but in those photos I could see that beauty was also courage, honesty, and acceptance. That was the moment I realised I didn’t have to hide to be beautiful.
It’s funny how the things we think will make us stand out are often the things that make us belong the most.
That shoot grounded me. It brought me home to myself in a way I hadn’t felt since before my diagnosis. I stopped trying to blend in. I started wearing shorts again. I began to speak more openly about what it’s like to live in a body that’s different, and the more I did, the more I realised how many other women had also felt left out of the definition of beauty.
For so long, beauty felt like something that existed outside of us, controlled by magazines, brands, and impossible standards. But somewhere along the way, we reclaimed it.
We started showing up online, in our bathrooms, in our group chats, sharing the products and rituals that made us feel like ourselves. We stopped chasing perfection and started choosing connection.
That shift is what makes this collaboration with MECCA so special for me. Ten years ago, I was a young woman standing in front of a camera, hoping to change how people saw beauty. Today, I get to contribute that same photo to the MECCA Archive, alongside a brand that truly embodies beauty in every sense of the word.
MECCA has always been more than makeup. It’s a space where beauty feels inclusive, expressive, and evolving.
Where we can celebrate the stories that shaped us and the ones that continue to unfold. To be part of their 21st Century Girls chapter feels like a full circle moment.
When I was that 8-year-old girl learning to walk again, I couldn’t have imagined that one day I’d be part of something like this. Back then, I thought beauty was something you had to earn. Something you found in products or approval. But now I see it’s something we all already have. It just takes a moment of courage to see it.
The word MECCA means a place people are drawn to, and that’s exactly what beauty has become for me, a place of belonging. A place where our differences don’t need to be concealed, but can be revealed, celebrated, and shared.
I think that’s what grounding really means. It’s not about being calm all the time or having it all figured out. It’s about being connected to who you are underneath everything. For me, grounding is standing in my body as it is, without apology or disguise, and knowing that I am enough.
That’s why I’m so proud to share this photo as my contribution to the MECCA Archive. It’s a piece of my story, but it’s also a reminder of how far we’ve all come. Beauty has changed because we have changed. We’ve stopped being passive. We’ve asked questions, demanded better, and made space for more voices, more faces, and more stories. The old definitions of beauty don’t hold up anymore, and thank goodness for that.
If I could speak to the younger version of myself, the girl who covered her leg and tried to look like everyone else, I’d tell her this: you were never supposed to blend in. You were always meant to stand out.
And to anyone reading this who still feels on the outside of beauty, I want you to know that you’re already in. You’ve been in all along.
This photo might just look like a picture, but to me it’s a symbol of what happens when we stop hiding. It’s proof that beauty isn’t something that lives in symmetry or perfection. It lives in truth, in courage, in showing up as you are.
That’s why I’m so proud to share this photo as my contribution to the MECCA Archive. It’s a piece of my story, but it’s also a reminder of how far we’ve all come. Beauty has changed because we have changed. We’ve stopped being passive. We’ve asked questions, demanded better, and made space for more voices, more faces, and more stories. The old definitions of beauty don’t hold up anymore, and thank goodness for that.
If I could speak to the younger version of myself, the girl who covered her leg and tried to look like everyone else, I’d tell her this: you were never supposed to blend in. You were always meant to stand out.
And to anyone reading this who still feels on the outside of beauty, I want you to know that you’re already in. You’ve been in all along.
This photo might just look like a picture, but to me it’s a symbol of what happens when we stop hiding. It’s proof that beauty isn’t something that lives in symmetry or perfection. It lives in truth, in courage, in showing up as you are.
Being part of this project feels bigger than a campaign. It’s a celebration of how beauty has evolved, how we’ve evolved. From concealing to revealing. From comparison to connection. From performance to presence.
And while this story is mine, it’s also yours. Because every woman I’ve met has a moment where she finally felt seen. Where she realised beauty wasn’t something she had to chase anymore.
So this is mine, the first time I truly felt beautiful. The moment I stopped hiding and came home to myself.
Here’s to all the women who are rewriting what beauty looks like. Who are grounding themselves in who they are and showing up with their own kind of light.
And here’s to MECCA for helping us capture those moments, preserve them, and remind us that beauty isn’t a standard, it’s a story.
