Dirt

The Girl Who Smelled Like Shit

• “She smells like shit.”

• “Maybe if you’re with her long enough, you’ll get used to the smell.”

• “You can fuck any guy as long as he has money.”

• “Why are you even studying for the MCAT?”

• “You’re stupid as fuck.”

• “You’re a scammer.”

• “You’re a liar.”

• “You’re a loser.”

• “I thought you didn’t wear makeup.”

• “You’re a schemer.”

• “You never know what people do behind closed doors.”

• “She starves herself to eat.” 

• “She is a snitch.”

• “Take my name out of your mouth.”

• “You value money more than you value life.” 

• “I’ll give you $200 (to have sex).”

The list goes on.

Today, sitting in my usual spot at a coffee shop, sipping a cappuccino and sucking on a lollipop, I remembered these words. Then I remembered—I have a blog. And I’m the CEO of my life. I take feedback seriously. I want to grow, increase my net worth, and become the best version of myself. But I also remembered something else: these racing, negative thoughts often come when I forget to take my schizophrenia meds.

Still, I want to share something. It’s personal. It’s maybe a little embarrassing. But maybe someone needs to hear it.

I didn’t have a normal childhood.

I grew up walking several blocks to elementary school in a uniform dress, a red scarf tied around my neck, and my hair in a high ponytail—the only style I knew how to do. I was a top student. But that changed when I came to the U.S. in fourth grade. I didn’t speak a word of English. I didn’t know how to open a school milk carton. My immigrant parents were focused on survival. We were poor. I spoke less and less as the kids around me made it clear I didn’t belong.

Middle school was worse. I couldn’t keep up with conversations. I ate lunch alone, avoided the cafeteria, and tried to be invisible. A few Vietnamese and Hmong girls let me tag along, but I was more of an accessory than a friend. I changed schools twice. I was isolated, always behind.

At the second high school I went to, the bullying became more specific. I began to sweat more - stress sweat. No amount of showering, deodorant, or perfume masked it. That’s when I became the girl who smells like shit. People stared. Whispered. Avoided walking near me. For a teenage girl, that kind of thing cuts deep. I ate lunch in the girls’ bathroom. I learned to move silently, disappear quickly, because being seen meant being mocked. 

I transferred to a third high school, hoping for a fresh start, and for another reason. My younger brother was going to be a new freshman, and I didn’t want him to get bullied for being associated with me. But word travels fast. Within two weeks, I had the same nickname. I stared at the floor or at the wall in every class. Some people pitied me. Most just ignored me. I skipped school often. I cried in silence. I had no one to confide in, no friends, no support.

But in that school, something changed.

I realized something strange: in art class, no one commented on my smell. I didn’t sweat. I didn’t stink. One day I skipped school and wandered the city all day. Still no smell. That’s when I started to suspect - maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe it was anxiety. I sat there every day in class in silence during senior year… waiting.

I graduated high school and miraculously got into a small State University. I worked day and night, raised my GPA to 3.9, and transferred to a prestigious State University. I was waitlisted, but I wrote a letter. They accepted me. It felt like a new beginning. 

I overloaded myself with classes - especially STEM courses. I failed Organic Chemistry four or five times before finally passing. I worked for free in a research lab to gain experience. I had no friends. I studied alone in the library, went to the lab, and repeated the cycle. I ended up graduating with a low GPA. Medical school seemed impossible now. Still, a part of me never gave up because I knew I could try harder. College was hard. But it was also the happiest time of my life. I didn’t sweat. I didn’t stink. No one in class avoided me. No one whispered. No one stared. For the first time in years, I could just exist. 

Right before graduating, I worked overnight at a company with people my age. Slowly, the old feeling crept back - like high school all over again. The stress returned. So did the sweating. So did the smell. I quit that job. I told myself I wanted better pay and better opportunities. But deep down, I also wanted peace. 

Someone once told me I wasn’t emotionally intelligent, that I was stupid as fuck. But I’ve survived far more than most people know. I’ve carried shame I didn’t deserve. I’ve endured silence, bullying, and invisibility. 

Breakthrough

So why am I telling the world about the most embarrassing parts of my past? Because if even one person is struggling the way I did, they deserve to know there’s hope. I want people to know how I finally cured what once ruled my life. I no longer live in fear of sweating or walk through life staring at the floor. Maybe it was the years of social isolation that triggered my first psychotic episode, but I eventually checked myself into a mental health ward to get help. They locked me in for three days - no internet, no cell phone, just a notebook and my thoughts. During that time, I thought about three things: my anxiety, my family, and my sweating.

The first thing I did was make a few phone calls to ensure to check on my family. My aunt and uncle visited me and brought news from the outside. I was relieved to hear they were going to be okay. 

Second, I found what would become my holy grail of antiperspirants. Of all places, it came in a plain brown paper bag they handed out to patients. That trip was five years ago, and I still use the same brand today. About a year later, I also went to a dermatologist and got Botox injections for underarm hyperhidrosis. The effects aren’t permanent—I still sweat a bit during intense exercise or in extreme summer heat—but with regular use of that antiperspirant, my underarms don’t smell anymore. For the first time in years, I wasn’t ashamed of my body.

Lastly, I had to face my anxiety. Why didn’t I sweat in art class? Why was I fine throughout college? The answer came slowly: it wasn’t just about stress—it was about noise. The noise of judgment, of whispers, of ridicule. It wasn’t just that I was an immigrant with limited English. I was also... different. A little weird. 

To truly reduce anxiety, we have to start by accepting ourselves, fully, unapologetically, as we are. That means becoming our own best friend, silencing the inner critic, and learning to reduce the noise around us. The truth is, some people will dislike you no matter what you do. If I had a dollar for every threat or death glare I’ve received from people, I’d have well over a hundred by now. But the most dangerous people aren’t always the obvious ones. Sometimes, it’s those who pretend to be your friends, only to use you for their gain. Eventually, their true colors show. And when they do, you’ll realize you never needed their approval in the first place. 

You don’t have to be anxious or nervous around people. Let their actions speak louder than their words. Trust your gut. Don’t make the same mistake I did—tolerating abuse just because I was lonely and had no one else. Have respect for yourself, because you are the CEO of your own life. Anyone in it is only there because you allow them to be. I’ve learned that hard truth: sometimes, the pain we carry is our responsibility to release. My dirt is out in the open now, and if you take anything from it, don’t be a loser like I once was. Trust yourself. Protect your peace. And above all, reduce the noise.

Still Rising

Some people think healing is a clean break. A moment of epiphany. You realize the problem, fix it, and move on. But for me, healing has been messy - like stitching together a torn fabric with thread that keeps fraying. 

I didn’t grow up knowing how to ask for help. I didn’t grow up with people reminding me that I was capable. I grew up learning how to hide—how to survive in silence, how to hold in pain so deeply that it started to feel like a part of my personality.

But somewhere in the middle of the chaos—between switching schools, failing tests, being ignored, and being insulted—I realized something. I have endurance. Not the glamorous kind. The quiet, ugly, stubborn kind. The kind that keeps you moving when no one sees you. The kind that lets you dream even when the world says you shouldn't.

And I want anyone reading this who’s been humiliated, dismissed, or made to feel small to know: the shame was never yours to carry.

You are not broken. You are becoming.

The Interesting Stranger 

• “You’re the most honest and kindest person I’ve met in my entire life.”

• “There’s my favorite workaholic. =)”

• “You’re studying? Good for you!”

• “It was nice to meet you.”

• “How are you so positive?” 

• “Your makeup looks good.”

• “Do you think you’re pretty?”

• “You smell amazing. What’s your secret?”

• “ily”

• “I love this picture of you.”

• “You’re smart enough.”

• “You’re weird.”

• “Thank you for your help!”

• “You’re surprisingly very funny. I needed that.”

• “You dance like my mom.”

• “You were raised in a good family.”

• “You never had a boyfriend?”

• “Can you afford that?”

• “You’re always welcome in our home.”

• “Are you a doctor yet?”

• “Woof Woof. 🐶”

And the list goes on.

Article(s)

Anxiety disorders - Symptoms and causes - Mayo Clinic

P.S. 

If you’re wondering what antiperspirant I used, Medline Roll-on Anti-perspirant - Fresh Scent - Alcohol-free - 1.5 Fl oz (45 mL). You can find it on Amazon.