Let me paint a picture for you: I’m a teenager, it’s summer, and I’m sitting next to my friend on a picnic table by the pool. “You’re so pale!” she exclaims, pressing her leg up against mine.

Various thoughts run through my head in response, from “obviously” to “don’t remind me” to “it seems like you’re trying to hurt my feelings”. But instead of saying any of those things, I try (and fail) to laugh it off. “I know, right,” I say. Sometimes I half-heartedly joke that “it’s OK, because I’m a ginger” (this is partially true; my hair is auburn), but then I instantly feel bad for other pale people who can’t use that excuse.

I want to be clear here that my insecurities around being fair-skinned in no way compare to the plight of people of colour who are confronted by systemic racism every day. Next to them, my ‘problem’ seems trivial… and yet I still remember it being there.

I’ve found myself in this exact situation many times, especially as a teen. I have skin that will never tan (only burn) and many of my friends, well, they don’t have the same problem. From their comments and the magazines I pored over, I was convinced that having pale skin was a bad thing, and the fact I couldn’t change it only made it worse.

Thankfully, I was able to avoid letting that discomfort completely control my life. I still said yes to pool outings with friends and purchasing new jean shorts at the mall. But I would be lying if I said my fair skin didn’t affect my confidence and anxiety levels around others, especially friends who had that summer-y, sun-kissed glow that’s so often raved about.

According to a therapist, I’m not alone. “Societal ‘norms’ about what people’s skin ‘should’ look like during different times of the season can often create insecurities in people,” affirms Caitlin Opland, a therapist with Thriveworks in Colorado who specialises in stress, anxiety, self-esteem and coping skills. “Ideas that are embedded even as young teens: ‘You must be glistening and tanned to be desired by a mate.’” These messages come from many places, from advertisements to loved ones’ words, she continues.

Thankfully, those messages affected me less as I got older. I think I just realised I couldn’t change my skin, so why bother, you know? My friends also stopped making comments as often, which probably helped. Plus, new stressors were becoming top of mind with each new stage of life.

As far as actual coping skills, however, Opland suggests we find ways to build self-esteem. “Once you build your self-confidence, it will serve you far longer than dwelling [on] self-consciousness around skin tone,” she points out.

More specifically, she recommends making small changes each week, like trying to stand taller or adjusting your posture. “No matter your skin colour, you’re going to wear it taller and a little bit prouder every time you enter a room,” she says. “This is to help remind yourself you are important, beautiful and proud.”

If your self-consciousness partially stems from someone else’s words, consider bringing that up with them. “Start with creating an open line of communication, [and] let them know how their words are affecting your self-esteem,” Opland says. She adds this may feel uncomfortable, but also empowering.

Does that sound like too much right now? Don’t worry; that’s understandable. In that case, Opland encourages protecting yourself and creating boundaries with your emotions, time and self-esteem.

I get the struggle, even as an adult. Despite my efforts, I haven’t fully embraced my fair skin yet. I still get annoyed by the fact my skin will always burn after a day at the lake, no matter how much sunscreen I wear. And let’s just say I wouldn’t be mad if my skin could get a little more tanned, even if only to make my blue veins less noticeable.

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.

This article is part of Skin Freedom, a Stylist Love Women series that aims to champion the reality of women’s skin in all its glory.