This is not beautiful

Beautiful is a word used to describe sparkling blue or soulful brown eyes.

Beautiful is a word used to describe silky, smooth, golden blond or chocolate brown hair.

Beautiful is a word used to describe perfect complexions.

Beautiful is a word used to describe smiles that don't falter.

Beautiful is a word used to describe confidence that doesn't waver.

Beautiful is a word used to describe slim and toned bodies.





Beautiful is not a word used to describe green eyes.

Beautiful is not a word used to describe crazily curled, frizzy mousy-brown hair.

Beautiful is not a word used to describe blemishes and blackheads.

Beautiful is not a word used to describe smiles forced by uncertainty.

Beautiful is not a word used to describe crippling self-doubt.

Beautiful is not a word used to describe double chins, bingo wings, Buddha bellies, thunder thighs, junk in the trunk.


As you lay entwined in the arms of the man who loves you, that voice starts: Why you?  He could have someone so much better than you - prettier, thinner, smarter, more self-assured, less emotional.  Are you really good enough?  And yet, it's like he instinctually knows the venom flooding your brain as he raises his hand in that secret gesture that signifies "I love you," searching to meet your hand.

Even though he's told you - often enough that he very rightly should be tired of repeating himself - that he loves you just the way you are and will love you no matter what, there's a part of you that just can't bring yourself to accept the hope that goes along with believing his words.

He gets upset when he hears you cut yourself down in your self-deprecating manor.  The disparaging cracks are a defence mechanism: if you insult yourself first, no one else will be able to.  He's trapped you by asking if you trust his opinion, his judgement; when you invariably reply that of course you do, he drops a logic bomb in your lap: then why don't you trust his opinion, his judgement of you?

He tells you that you're beautiful, using terms like "smokin' hot."  You simultaneously realize that this is the first time in your 32 years that you've heard yourself described like this, and that you don't believe the compliments, thinking that he says them out of some sense of obligation.  After all, your own mother didn't refer to you as a "pretty girl" until you were 27-years old.  And yes, hearing her say that was such a shock, you remember the exact moment she said it, right down to what you were wearing.

You've always been fairly secure in your intelligence and ability to do things like get good grades and remain on the honour roll: you've been praised for those things for as long as you can remember.  But when it comes to that shallow qualifier - your looks - you're completely unsure.  Oblivious, even.  You did not grow up hearing positive, complimentary things about your looks - not because you were ugly, but because beauty wasn't deemed a characteristic important enough to merit flattery; instead, you were called a moose and told that she wouldn't help you fix your bangs on picture day lest she touch your "zitty nose."

You read books.  You watch videos.  You find it blessedly easy to see the beauty in everyone around you.  Except, of course, yourself.

You have days - moments - where you feel good and confident, liking the face that gazes back at you in the mirror.  But those moments are fleeting.  In the very next second, you can find yourself passing a mirror and muttering about a disgusting fat ass in a completely sickened tone of voice.  Your insecurities make you doubt every single aspect of who you are and question everything you think, do, feel.

You know you're so much more than your looks, your zits, your weight - you're kind and compassionate and loving and generous and helpful and funny.  So why is it that so damned much of your self-worth is tied up in your looks?   Not even in your looks - your perception of your looks.

But really, it wouldn't matter if the entire planet's population lined up at your door to tell you that you're beautiful: you'd never hear it because you're unable to see it.

This is not beautiful.