The Smile I Almost Hid

There are some stories we don't realise we are still carrying until someone unexpectedly rewrites them. For me, it was my smile.

Growing up, I had two prominent front teeth. To most people, they were probably just part of how I looked. To me, they were one of the things I was most self-conscious about. Children have a way of noticing the things that make us different, and my classmates certainly did. The jokes came easily, and although I laughed along at times, I became increasingly aware of my teeth whenever I smiled.

At home, my parents affectionately called me "eyin goro", a family nickname they used because of my front teeth. Looking back, I know they never intended to hurt me. Like many parents, they were simply giving me a nickname. But children don't always separate intention from impact. The words we hear repeatedly have a way of becoming the stories we tell ourselves, and before long, I had accepted that my smile was something to be embarrassed about.

The irony was that smiling was one of the most natural things about me. I've always laughed wholeheartedly. Even today, I smile with all my teeth showing, and I laugh often. No matter how self-conscious I felt, I could never stop doing it. It was simply who I was. Yet, for years, there was a part of me that wished my smile looked different. I never said it out loud, but somewhere deep down, I believed that if my teeth were different, perhaps I would feel more confident too.

Life moved on. School became university, university became work, and like many childhood insecurities, I assumed I had outgrown it. The truth is that some beliefs don't disappear simply because we become adults; they become quieter and sit unnoticed beneath the surface, shaping how we see ourselves long after we've forgotten where they came from.

A few years ago, I resigned from a role after accepting another opportunity. Shortly after I sent my resignation email, the project manager asked to have a chat with me. I expected we would talk about my transition plan, outstanding work, or handover arrangements. Instead, after a brief conversation, he paused and said something that completely caught me off guard.

Kenny, you know one of your strengths? Your smile. I’ve noticed how it puts people at ease, especially when you are dealing with stakeholders. Never lose that.

I don't remember everything else we discussed that day. I remember those words. The words stayed with me because they challenged a story I had been carrying for decades. The very thing I had quietly viewed as one of my greatest insecurities was the same thing someone else had experienced as one of my greatest strengths.

Nothing about my smile had changed. The only thing that changed was the story attached to it. It made me wonder how many parts of ourselves we are still apologising for, hiding, or wishing were different because of something someone said years ago. A nickname, a careless comment, a joke in the school playground, or an opinion spoken by someone who never imagined we'd carry their words into adulthood.

How many of those old stories are still quietly shaping the way we see ourselves today?

Perhaps, that is why encouragement can be so powerful. Sometimes it doesn't give us something new; it simply gives us permission to see ourselves differently. One genuine sentence, spoken at the right moment, can begin undoing years of believing something that was never true in the first place.

And if you are carrying an old story about yourself, perhaps today is the day to ask whether it's still true, or whether it's simply familiar.

Reflect: What story about yourself are you still carrying, and who gave it to you?

Decide: Decide which labels no longer deserve a place in how you see yourself.

Act: Choose your words carefully, because what you say may shape how someone sees themselves for years.

Maybe the shift isn't becoming someone different; maybe it's finally seeing ourselves through healthier eyes. Somewhere today, there is probably a child believing something is wrong with them because of a careless comment. And somewhere else, an adult is carrying the weight of words that were never meant to become a lifelong identity.

Perhaps it's time to let those words go.

Yours truly,

Dr Kenny

❤️

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