THE TEETH I LEARNED TO LOVE.

From the moment I walked into elementary school, I knew I didn’t have the kind of smile people celebrated.

I had a giant gap. All my teeth were social distancing before it was trendy. My family used to call them “dog teeth,” laughing like it was just a joke—but it stuck. Some people said it was charming. Others said I looked ghetto. But most of the damage didn’t come from outside comments. It came from me.

In high school, everyone around me seemed to have perfect teeth. Braces. Clean, polished smiles. Parents who paid for dental care. Meanwhile, I came from a family that didn’t really talk about hygiene. Their teeth weren’t perfect, but they weren’t like mine. I always felt like the one who got left behind.

I learned to laugh with my hand over my mouth. My ex-girlfriend used to notice. Every time I smiled, I tried to hide it. I wanted to sing like my father used to, but I couldn’t picture myself opening my mouth in front of a crowd. I wanted veneers. I wanted braces. I wanted anything to make me feel normal.

But I also knew it wasn’t going to happen.

My mother once took me to a dentist, who said the only fix for my underbite was to break my jaw. That stayed with me for years. I avoided dentists. I avoided smiling. I just… accepted it. Radical acceptance. That’s what it felt like. A decision to live with what I had, even if it hurt.

Things didn’t start to shift until adulthood—when I finally had some money. I walked into a dental clinic and told the truth: “I’ve wanted to fix my teeth for as long as I can remember.” And instead of judgment, I got kindness. A dentist took me under her wing, told me we didn’t have to break my jaw, and helped me start Invisalign.

It changed everything.

But here’s the thing—my relationship with my smile didn’t change because my teeth did.

It changed because I realized my smile comes from something deeper. It comes from how I love. How I light up. How I care. Your teeth might be crooked. They might be yellow. They might not look like anyone else’s. But if your joy is real—if your laughter is honest—it’s always beautiful.

So if you’re struggling with your smile, hear this:
You are more than your teeth.
You are more than what a mirror reflects.
And even if the world never gives you braces, you can still show up and light a room.

Because a real smile?
It starts from within.
And it can’t be corrected—it can only be felt.