As I walk through the grocery store, I act like I don’t notice their whispers. People stare as I pass them. They don’t realize the pain caused by their glances. Children stop and ask their parents, what’s wrong with “that girl”?

I was in third grade and had recently moved to a new school; I desperately wanted to fit in. Wearing a back brace that stretched from below my chin to the bottom of my hips didn’t exactly help in that department.

A few months before, my mother noticed that my shoulders were uneven. She immediately made a doctor’s appointment, at which I was diagnosed with scoliosis, an s-shaped curvature of the spine that affects only three out of every 1,000 children. If left untreated, my condition could have interfered with my lung function — or worse. Surgery was an alternative to the back brace, but it would have involved inserting a metal rod into my back, decreasing my mobility and limiting my range of motion.

Soon after my diagnosis, I was sent to a professional brace maker for a three-hour fitting. Watching him create the brace made me dread wearing it more; it was obvious that it wasn’t going to be comfortable.

The brace consisted of three metal bars that extended from my neck to my waist, preventing that part of my body from moving. The bars were connected to a plastic, corset-like apparatus that was tightened with straps around my waist to straighten my lower curvature. A plastic piece was placed at my right side to straighten the upper curve.

As I received detailed instructions on how to wear the brace (18 hours a day, always worn at night, no intense physical activities, etc.), I couldn’t stop thinking about how the kids would react the next day when I wore my brace to school. As soon as I got home, I began to rummage through my closet in an attempt to find clothes that would cover up the brace. I knew that if people saw the metal device around my neck, they would never look at me the same way again. I didn’t want to face the stares. I didn’t want this change.

The next morning, I cried as I got ready for school. The previous night’s sleep had left the skin on my torso raw with irritation. My skin was not used to the brace. Neither was I.

The first day I wore the brace to school, I hoped people would overlook it. But before class, my friends bombarded me with questions. “Why are you wearing that? Does it hurt? Will you have to wear it forever?” They were curious, and who could blame them? I answered each question as best as I could, making sure to hide how much the brace bothered me.

I couldn’t wait until 12:30 when I would be able to take off the brace during lunch break. Since I couldn’t take it off by myself, my best friend, Kate, met me in the nurse’s office to undo the straps and harnesses that kept the brace tight around my torso. I was able to leave the brace in the nurse’s office for the remainder of the day, knowing that in a few hours I would have to put it on again.

During the years I wore my brace, I felt like things couldn’t get worse. I was sick of going to slumber parties in my brace. I was sick of missing out on fun activities and, most of all, I was sick of asking, “Why me?”

I used to beg my mom to let me have the surgery. If I could just have the rod in my back, I wouldn’t have to wear the brace. I didn’t care if I couldn’t move my back, at least I could be normal.

“It will be worth it in the end,” she would tell me.

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that she was right. I knew that if I stuck it out, my back would be corrected and I could be “normal” eventually, but the four years of wearing the brace in public seemed like an eternity.

Although I never fully accepted the brace, it became a part of me. After a while, my friends stopped noticing it, and I finally began to feel more confident.

It’s been six years since my doctor told me I no longer had to wear the brace. As I listened to his words, I felt liberated. It was as if I had spent my childhood behind bars and was finally released. I never wanted to see the brace again.

“Do you want to keep it,” my doctor asked. His words were laughable and I quickly told him “no.” The brace was donated to an organization that reused its various parts.

I’ve blocked out the majority of painful memories of my years in the brace. I don’t want to think about the stares or the muffled whispers I endured as I walked through grocery stores and shopping malls. Even though these images have been lost in my memory, I will never forget the feelings they left inside.

I know what it’s like to feel different and, in one way in particular, wearing a brace has helped shape the person I am today. I feel more compassion for others who are sad or feel left out. I feel the need to be the one to help them through their pain and be a source of acceptance. If that was what came out of such a negative experience, then it was worth it in the end.