I haven’t figured out how I want to respond to people’s comments, either. I still bring up how I’m a ginger despite my discomfort with that excuse. I still feel self-conscious around people who have that summer-y, sun-kissed glow. I still don’t like how I feel when I joke that my skin “isn’t pale, it’s porcelain”, as if it’s a bad thing to just be pale. I still have social anxiety, though I’d say it’s tied less to my skin now, for whatever reason.

And, amid all that, I try to not let my pale skin occupy a prominent space in my mind anymore. If the thought comes up, I let it, then allow it to pass. After all, when I’m at a barbecue or at the pool with friends, I don’t want to be caught up in how I look. I want to feel the warm sun and be grateful for all my body does for me. I want to focus on how good the food is, how much fun I’m having and what incredible dad joke I’m going to make next – even if (read: when) I’m the only one who laughs.

In short: wasting my time worrying about something as (valid but) meaningless as pale skin? Especially – especially – when people of colour face systemic oppression, discrimination and violence because of their skin? Yeah, I’m good. I have bigger things to worry about and causes to fight for. Even though my teen self struggled, my adult self can now be free.

“I’ve spent too many summers feeling self-conscious about my pale skin – I refuse to let it happen again”