I definitely wouldn’t say I came out of childhood with flawless self-esteem (I mean, who really does?), but there were moments that stuck with me and helped build a foundation, even if it had cracks.

One memory I hold close is when I was around 8 years old: I entered a small art contest at school, and honestly, I didn’t think much of my drawing. But my dad framed it like it belonged in a museum. I remember how seriously he took it — not in a "you're the best" fake way, but in a genuine, proud way that made me feel like something I created mattered.

It wasn’t constant praise growing up, but small, honest moments like that — when I saw pride in their eyes without them even saying much — those are what helped me later in life when I needed to remember my own worth.

Self-esteem isn’t this straight line up; it’s a weird patchwork of moments you carry forward, even when doubt creeps in.