Ten Years of Braces Taught Me Patience More Than Perfect Teeth Ever Could

I don’t remember a version of my childhood where my teeth weren’t being “worked on.” For as long as I can remember, there was always something in my mouth — plastic, metal, wires — quietly reshaping parts of me I never really thought about until everyone else did.

🦷 When You’re Told Something Is “Bad” Before You Understand Why

I was still very young when adults started talking about my teeth in worried tones.

I didn’t fully understand what an overbite was. I just knew that dentists would pause longer than usual, tilt my head, and speak to my parent instead of me. Once, someone remarked on how severe it was — and how surprising it was that I hadn’t been bullied.

That sentence stayed with me far longer than any medical explanation.

Because when you’re a child, you don’t hear clinical concern.
You hear: something about you is wrong.

🧒 Starting Treatment Before Most Kids Even Notice Their Teeth

Most people associate braces with teenage years — awkward smiles, school photos, colorful rubber bands.

Mine started much earlier.

The first appliance wasn’t even braces. It was a plastic plate fixed to the roof of my mouth, something I had to live with day and night. Talking felt strange. Eating felt different. I was constantly aware of my mouth in a way kids normally aren’t.

That plate stayed for years.

Not because anything went wrong — but because my body was still growing.

⏳ The Strange Waiting Game of Growing Teeth

One thing I didn’t understand back then — but understand deeply now — is that orthodontic treatment in children isn’t linear.

It’s not about speed.

It’s about timing.

Baby teeth have to fall out in the right order. Adult teeth need space to emerge. Jaws grow unpredictably. Everything depends on what happens next — and no one can rush that.

So there were phases.

Braces on the lower jaw.
Then off.
Then braces on the upper jaw.
Then both together.

Months where things changed quickly.
Years where nothing seemed to change at all.

From the outside, it probably looked excessive.

From the inside, it just felt… endless.

🪞 Growing Up While Being “Under Construction”

There were only a handful of months in my entire childhood and adolescence when I had no metal in my mouth.

That’s a strange thing to realize later.

Because braces aren’t just a medical device — they become part of your identity.

You learn how to smile around them.
You learn how to talk with them.
You learn how to eat carefully, how to avoid certain foods, how to laugh without showing too much.

You don’t think about it consciously every day.

But it’s always there.

🧠 The Emotional Side No One Warns You About

People talk about braces like they’re temporary. Like they’re a phase.

But when a “phase” lasts a decade, it stops feeling temporary.

It becomes background noise to your life.

I didn’t feel dramatic sadness about it.
I didn’t feel constant embarrassment.

What I felt instead was something quieter:

• mild self-consciousness that never fully left
• a constant awareness of being mid-process
• the feeling that things would be better later

And “later” kept moving.

🦷 Why the Process Took So Long — And Why That Matters

Looking back, I understand why my treatment took as long as it did.

The goal wasn’t just straight teeth.
It was avoiding surgery.
It was changing how my jaw sat — gently, over time.

That required making space.

Which meant removing a couple of adult teeth so others could migrate backward naturally.

It sounds intense when written down.

At the time, it was just… another step.

🧩 When Your Body Doesn’t Follow a Timeline

Another thing that extended the process?

I was very good at breaking braces.

Not on purpose — just by being a kid.

Wires snapped. Brackets loosened. Appointments multiplied.

It became almost funny how often we were back at the dental office.

Almost.

Mostly, it was tiring.

For me.
And definitely for the parent who had to rearrange life around it.

🧑‍⚕️ Trusting the Process (Even When You’re Too Young to Choose It)

One thing I want to say clearly:

The professional overseeing my treatment knew what they were doing.

This wasn’t about money.
This wasn’t about dragging things out.

It was careful, deliberate, experienced work.

And at the time, I didn’t really get a say in it.

That’s another strange part of childhood medical journeys:
You’re involved — but not in control.

You live inside decisions made for your future self.

🎓 Reaching the Finish Line Later Than Everyone Else

When the braces finally came off, I was older than most people are when they finish orthodontic treatment.

I remember expecting a huge emotional moment.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It was quiet.

I smiled in the mirror.
My teeth were straight.
My bite felt normal.

And I realized something surprising:

I didn’t feel transformed.

I felt… complete.

🌙 Life After Braces Isn’t “Over”

Even now, the process isn’t technically finished.

I still wear a retainer while sleeping — not every night, but often enough to keep things in place.

It’s not a burden.

It’s just maintenance.

A reminder that bodies don’t lock into perfection permanently. They require upkeep.

Just like everything else.

🧠 What This Taught Me About Bodies and Patience

Spending ten years in a medical process taught me things I didn’t expect.

It taught me that:

• fixing something doesn’t mean rushing it
• bodies change on their own timelines
• long processes don’t always feel heroic
• endurance is often quiet and uncelebrated

And most importantly:

Sometimes the hardest part isn’t pain — it’s waiting.

🤍 Looking Back Without Resentment

I don’t resent the process.

I don’t feel like I “lost” anything.

But I do wish we talked more openly about what long-term medical treatment feels like for children.

Not just physically — emotionally.

Because kids understand more than we think.

They notice more than we realize.

And they carry those experiences into adulthood in subtle ways.

🌱 A Different Kind of Confidence

Today, my teeth are fine.

But the confidence I gained didn’t come from how they look.

It came from knowing I can live inside a long, uncertain process — and come out the other side without bitterness.

That patience is something I didn’t ask for.

But I’m glad I learned it early.