How Makeup Helped My Confidence, Recovery & Self-Esteem
Makeup and confidence became connected for me long before I understood recovery, self-esteem or healing.
Beauty was never simply about appearance.
It became comfort.
Ritual.
Confidence.
And sometimes, if I am completely honest, armour.
From Harper’s Bazaar magazines and teenage makeup disasters to hospital detox and rebuilding my self-esteem, makeup quietly followed me through every chapter of my life.
It started with glossy magazines.
Long before tutorials, social media beauty trends or luxury skincare, I was fascinated by beauty.
I had a subscription to Harper’s Bazaar and would sit completely absorbed in its pages.
The women looked impossibly glamorous.
Perfect eyeliner.
Glossy lips.
Hair that somehow looked effortless.
Beauty felt sophisticated to me.
Feminine.
A little mysterious.
And maybe, if I am honest, a little escapism too.
The funny thing is, nobody really taught me any of it.
My mum barely wore makeup apart from lipstick and eyeliner.
There were no mother-and-daughter beauty tutorials.
No skincare routines being passed down.
No foundation matching.
No lessons at the mirror.
Everything I learnt came through experimenting.
And often… getting it spectacularly wrong.
School Bus Makeup Rituals & Boots Counters
My first makeup products were the classics.
Rimmel.
L’Oréal.
Maybelline.
And before going home from school as a teenager, while waiting for the bus, I would wander around Boots.
I can still picture it.
Walking around the makeup aisles.
Opening testers.
Looking at shades.
Reading packaging.
Not always buying anything.
Just browsing.
It felt calming.
Exciting.
Like its own little universe.
Beauty counters became one of my earliest forms of escapism.
And school mornings had their own beauty ritual too.
My journey to school took nearly an hour on the bus.
And rather than sitting quietly or pretending to revise, I treated that bus journey like a moving dressing room.
That was my makeup time.
My lashes.
My mirror.
My concentration.
I would sit there doing my makeup while the streets and countryside rolled past outside the window.
And during that era, my absolute obsession was L’Oréal Telescopic mascara.
Nothing else compared.
I was convinced the longer the lashes, the better the outcome.
So naturally, moderation never entered the conversation.
I would apply layer upon layer.
And then another layer for emotional support.
My lashes practically deserved their own postcode.
At the time I genuinely believed this was peak glamour.
Looking back now, perhaps it was slightly less Harper’s Bazaar and slightly more committed teenage experimentation.
But those bus journeys became part of the ritual.
Part of the comfort.
And looking back, I realise beauty had already started becoming woven into my routine.
Not just for appearance.
But for calm.
For confidence.
For familiarity.
Even then, makeup felt grounding to me.
Long before I understood meditation retreats or silent practice, perhaps I had already created my own version.
An hour-long bus ride.
A mirror.
And an alarming amount of mascara.
My Teenage Makeup Disasters: Brows, Bronzer & Porcelain Experiments
And I certainly had my teenage beauty disasters.
There was a phase where I dramatically overdid my eyebrows.
Not softly filled.
Not delicately shaped.
Fully committed.
Drawn on far larger than nature had originally intended and, at the time, I genuinely believed they looked incredible.
Until reality politely intervened.
I still remember opening the classroom door at school and seeing somebody look directly at my eyebrows in utter shock.
Not a subtle glance.
A full stare.
The kind that tells you everything before a single word is spoken.
And suddenly I realised perhaps I had become slightly… ambitious.
Then there was the bronzer phase.
My loyal Rimmel bronzer and I had a very serious relationship.
Unfortunately, I applied it with far more confidence than skill.
My face would be enthusiastically bronzed while my neck remained entirely untouched.
At the time, I saw Mediterranean glamour.
The rest of the world apparently saw something slightly different.
The moment I truly realised I may have overdone it happened during morning school assembly.
My name had been announced because I was receiving a fencing medal.
I remember walking to the front to collect it and feeling people staring.
Not admiring the medal.
Staring at my face.
This was how overcommitted I had become to the bronzer.
And then, as if humiliation had not already completed its performance, the deputy head later approached me and gently asked whether something was wrong with my skin.
Was I okay?
At the time I wanted the floor to open and swallow me whole.
There was, however, another entirely different phase happening alongside the bronzer era.
Because apparently moderation was never my strongest beauty skill.
While one version of me was enthusiastically bronzing my face into Mediterranean territory, another version had developed the opposite obsession.
I went through a stage where I made my face far too pale.
Deliberately.
I became fascinated with looking porcelain.
Almost geisha-like.
Perfectly powdered.
Very light.
Very matte.
Very dramatic.
Looking back, it is quite funny really.
I somehow managed to live through two completely opposing makeup identities.
One deeply committed to bronzer.
The other committed to ghostly elegance.
And at the time, both made perfect sense to me.
I suppose that is the funny thing about teenage beauty.
We are not always trying to look natural.
Sometimes we are experimenting with identity itself.
Trying on different versions of ourselves.
Playing with confidence.
Searching for beauty while still figuring out who we are.
And honestly, perhaps those extremes were part of the fun.
Because somewhere between the overly bronzed school assembly face and the accidental porcelain phase, I was quietly learning what actually suited me.
Acne, Self-Esteem & Discovering Benzoyl Peroxide
My teenage years brought something more difficult.
Acne.
And for somebody already trying to understand confidence and femininity, it felt devastating.
People sometimes dismiss acne as cosmetic.
But when you are the one living inside your own skin, it rarely feels cosmetic.
It feels emotional.
I became painfully aware of mirrors.
Photographs.
Lighting.
I remember feeling deeply embarrassed by my skin and eventually needing to see a doctor for treatment.
Then I found something that changed things for me.
Benzoyl peroxide.
And slowly, my skin improved.
I still remember the relief.
Not because clear skin solved my problems.
But because I finally felt more comfortable in myself again.
Looking back now, I realise beauty and confidence became connected for me very early.
Not vanity.
Confidence.
Expression.
Protection.
Why MAC Makeup Changed Everything For Me
As I got older, my makeup evolved.
And my introduction to MAC Cosmetics happened through something unexpected.
I was sixteen when I competed in a Miss Teen UK competition.
During the photoshoot, the makeup artists used only MAC products.
I remember watching them work.
The brushes.
The technique.
The precision.
Until then, makeup had mostly meant experimenting.
School bus mascara sessions.
Boots counters.
Teenage guesswork.
But this felt different.
Professional.
Editorial.
I remember seeing the photographs afterwards and being genuinely impressed.
The makeup looked flawless.
Not cakey.
Not heavy.
It simply worked perfectly for photographs.
The skin.
The finish.
The way the products translated through the camera.
That photoshoot quietly changed everything for me.
Because suddenly makeup was no longer just something fun.
It became artistry.
And I understood why professional makeup artists loved MAC Cosmetics.
That was the moment I became loyal to MAC.
Everything became MAC.
The foundation.
Powders.
Lipsticks.
And the brushes too.
I became almost as obsessed with the brushes as the makeup itself.
There was something satisfying about them.
The softness.
The quality.
The feeling that proper brushes somehow made the whole process more serious.
My makeup bag practically looked like a MAC counter.
And for years, that became my signature.
Then somebody bought me a Lancôme foundation.
And I remember noticing immediately how different it felt.
The texture.
The finish.
The feeling of it on my skin.
It simply felt more expensive.
More luxurious.
And that quietly changed my relationship with foundation.
But before all of that, there was Dior.
I bought Dior products in my teens alongside the cheaper makeup I already loved.
My Rimmel.
My Maybelline.
My experimenting and budget beauty phases.
But Dior felt different.
Like luxury.
The most expensive makeup I had ever bought.
And because of that, I treated those products almost like antiques.
I made them last.
Ridiculously so.
Some lasted nearly ten years because I simply could not bear to finish them too quickly.
There was something comforting about them.
Like owning a small piece of glamour.
And somewhere along the way, I introduced my mum to Dior too.
Which still makes me smile.
Because despite barely wearing makeup when I was younger, she developed one beauty loyalty of her own.
To this day, she will only wear Dior eyeliner.
Funny how beauty gets passed between women.
Not always through tutorials.
Sometimes through products.
Recommendations.
And little rituals shared without realising.
Charlotte Tilbury, Confidence & Finding What Worked
Then came another beauty turning point.
A trip to The Hague.
I stopped at a Charlotte Tilbury counter almost casually and left completely converted.
The lady sat me down and did an entire look.
She colour-matched me.
Picked products.
Explained everything.
And I remember staring at myself afterwards.
I could not believe how beautiful the foundation looked.
The glow.
The finish.
The skin.
Needless to say, I walked out considerably poorer.
My wallet noticeably lighter.
And suddenly I had gone from being a MAC girl to a Charlotte Tilbury girl.
How Makeup Helped My Confidence, Recovery & Self-Esteem
Part 2 — Mum, Meditation, Detox & Beauty As Armour
Beauty, Memory & My Mum
These days, my makeup bag looks less loyal and more like organised chaos.
A mixture of different brands collected through different chapters of my life.
I use Clinique primer or Benefit Cosmetics Porefessional.
My setting sprays rotate between Urban Decay, MAC Cosmetics and Charlotte Tilbury.
And perhaps that reflects me better now.
Not committed to one brand.
Just using what works.
What feels beautiful.
What feels like me.
Beauty also became connected to memory.
Especially when it came to my mum.
After nearly four years apart, reconnecting carried so many emotions.
And one memory stayed with me.
I found a Ted Baker makeup bag.
Inside it were all the products I had bought her one Christmas.
Still untouched.
Carefully kept.
Almost preserved.
I remember opening it and finding Benefit Cosmetics bronzer.
A MAC Cosmetics foundation.
A contour palette.
A concealer palette.
Products I had chosen for her with excitement.
And she had not touched them.
Not because she disliked them.
But because she had kept them.
There was something unexpectedly emotional about that moment.
Because makeup is often dismissed as superficial.
But standing there looking at that makeup bag, it did not feel superficial.
It felt sentimental.
Like a small time capsule.
A reminder that gifts and memories sometimes survive periods where relationships struggle to.
And perhaps that is another reason beauty became personal to me.
It was never simply makeup.
It carried memory too.
Makeup As Meditation & Morning Self-Care
Somewhere along the way, beauty became about much more than products.
It became ritual.
Meditation.
I once attended a meditation retreat and learnt about silent meditation.
And afterwards I realised something.
My meditation looks different.
It happens in front of a mirror.
Every morning when I sit down to do my makeup.
That is my meditation.
The brushes.
The routine.
The concentration.
The familiarity.
It calms me in ways I cannot fully explain.
It slows my thoughts.
Grounds me.
Relaxes me.
And perhaps that is why beauty has remained important to me.
Not because I believe women need makeup.
But because for me, the ritual became healing.
There is something strangely comforting about the routine.
The primer.
The foundation.
The lashes.
The setting spray.
The quiet concentration.
My morning routine became a form of self-care before I even knew that phrase existed.
And perhaps that explains why makeup and confidence became so closely connected for me.
Not through vanity.
But through ritual.
Through familiarity.
Through the comfort of creating order.
Beauty As Armour During Addiction & Hospital Detox
And during some of the hardest periods of my life, beauty became both comfort and armour.
There were times when my internal world felt chaotic.
When anxiety, alcoholism and emotional pain quietly sat underneath the surface.
And yet I could still sit down and do my makeup.
Still create order.
Still feel put together.
I remember even during hospital detox insisting that my mum bring me my makeup bag.
Not because I was worried about glamour.
And not because I felt particularly beautiful.
Quite the opposite.
I wanted to look healthier than I felt.
More alive than I felt.
More together than I actually was.
Because addiction has a way of showing itself physically.
Exhaustion.
Paleness.
The heaviness in your face.
And I think part of me wanted to hide how unwell I felt.
I used beauty as armour.
The foundation.
The lashes.
The routine.
The familiar comfort of applying makeup while everything else felt uncertain.
And if I am completely honest, there were times I hid my feelings through the way I looked.
I could be struggling internally yet still present a polished version of myself externally.
Beauty never cured the pain.
Nor did it heal addiction.
But sometimes it helped me carry it.
Sometimes it gave me enough confidence to face the day.
And perhaps that is why I struggle when people dismiss beauty as shallow.
Because I understand how it can look that way from the outside.
Lipstick.
Mascara.
Powder.
A vanity table.
But for some women, beauty becomes something deeper.
A ritual.
A confidence tool.
A form of self-expression.
And sometimes, during difficult chapters, a quiet kind of emotional protection.
Why Makeup Still Matters To Me Today
I still love beautiful things.
Fashion.
Hair.
Makeup.
Luxury products.
The transformation.
And no, I no longer believe beauty solves everything.
Life taught me that.
Recovery taught me that.
But I do believe beauty and confidence can coexist.
And I do believe makeup can be more than appearance.
For me, it became intertwined with self-esteem.
With healing.
With femininity.
And with rebuilding parts of myself.
Looking back now, I realise I was never really searching for perfection.
I was experimenting with identity.
Trying on different versions of myself.
The bronzed girl.
The porcelain girl.
The teenager with dramatic brows.
The MAC devotee.
The Charlotte Tilbury convert.
The girl sitting on a bus applying far too much L’Oréal Telescopic mascara.
The woman in detox asking for her makeup bag because she wanted to look stronger than she felt.
And perhaps all of them were me.
Beauty never healed my addiction.
Nor did it remove grief, anxiety or pain.
But sometimes it helped me carry those things more gently.
And maybe that is why makeup still feels personal to me now.
Magazine by magazine.
Mistake by mistake.
Brush by brush.
And somewhere between Harper’s Bazaar, disastrous eyebrows, Dior eyeliner, porcelain experiments, school bus mascara sessions, detox wards and beauty counters…
Makeup quietly became my confidence.
My ritual.
And, for a while, my armour.
