There were days I forgot my school clothes, and I would actually

Michelle Kwan, the great skater whose name shines across the annals of sport, once recalled with humility: “There were days I forgot my school clothes, and I would actually go to school with skating tights and a little skirt. It’s very embarrassing… I definitely had to be comfortable in my own skin, and my mom taught me that.” In these words lies not only the memory of childhood awkwardness, but also the wisdom of transformation—how what seems humiliating can become the seed of strength, how comfort with oneself is greater than the approval of others.

Her story begins with the clash between two worlds: the world of discipline and artistry on the ice, and the world of ordinary schoolchildren in their casual clothes. To walk into school dressed as though ready to perform was to stand apart, to feel exposed. For a child, such embarrassment cuts deeply, for the longing to blend in is powerful. Yet Michelle did not retreat from those moments; she endured them, and in time she learned the greater lesson: that worth is not measured by conformity, but by authenticity.

It was her mother who planted this wisdom within her. A mother’s teaching often comes not in grand speeches but in the quiet reinforcement of confidence, the gentle insistence that her child must embrace who she is. In reminding Michelle to be comfortable in her own skin, her mother gave her the shield needed to withstand the sting of ridicule. From that shield arose the courage to face audiences, to stand before judges, and to bear the weight of expectation upon the ice without breaking.

History too bears witness to this pattern. Recall the young Joan of Arc, who stood before kings and soldiers dressed not as a maiden of her time but in armor. To many, it was strange, even shameful, but Joan was unmoved, for she was certain of her calling. Her comfort in her own skin—clad though it was in mail instead of silk—gave her the strength to rally armies and change the fate of nations. Like Michelle, she was taught, whether by faith or family, to stand firm in who she was, even when others found it strange.

The deeper meaning of Michelle Kwan’s reflection is that authenticity often begins in awkwardness. To be set apart is at first painful, but in time, it becomes the mark of individuality and greatness. Had she shrunk from the laughter of her peers, she might not have grown into the woman who skated with unmatched grace. The world often tests us early with embarrassment, only to ask later: will you dare to stand out, or will you fade into the crowd?

The lesson, then, is clear: do not flee from the moments that make you feel different. Instead, carry them as signs that you are walking a path uniquely yours. When embarrassment comes, remember that it is often the prelude to strength. And if you are blessed with mentors—be they parents, teachers, or friends—who remind you to be at peace with yourself, cherish their words as priceless treasures.

Practically, this calls for daily acts of courage. Wear what you must with confidence, speak what you believe without fear, pursue what you love even if others do not understand. Teach your children, as Michelle’s mother did, to honor their uniqueness, so that they are not broken by laughter or scorn. And above all, remember that to be comfortable in your own skin is to carry an armor stronger than steel, one that allows you to face the world’s eyes unflinching.

Thus Michelle Kwan’s memory, though born of schoolyard embarrassment, becomes an eternal teaching. She shows us that greatness is not only carved in moments of victory but forged in the quiet battles of youth, when we first learn to accept ourselves. May her words inspire us all to stand firm in who we are, to wear even our awkwardness with dignity, and to walk through life clothed not only in garments, but in self-respect.