You ARE Beautiful...No Matter What

To the sisters of my heart, to those I know and don’t know, to all the women out there…this is for you…

Embrace your…

Supple flesh, round and abundant or diminutive slim and wispy bodies, for the flesh is a gift to you;
Wrinkles because they bespeak wisdom and experiences;
Blemishes which add character and depth;
Pock marks that tell of stories and struggles;
Big or small ears from which to dangle baubles and bling (or not);
Bulbous or pug nose to smell wonderful smells from which memories are created;
Eyes in all shapes and sizes that observes all the wonders of the world;
Height, Tall or short or in-between because at the end of the day, it’s the one you’re supposed to be;
Bow-legs or knobby knees;
Thick ankles or muscular calves;
Long hair with split ends or short pixie cut or the beautiful bald;
Lips that seem too thin, or equally too thick but which smile either way;
Complexion, so light that one can see the veins running beneath the alabaster of the surface or as dark as the velvety midnight sky or any glorious shade that creates a rainbow of humanity;  
Boobs that are perky or ones that have nurtured and given sustenance;
Shaved to perfection or all natural because either you’re all about your natural self or attentive;
Feminine by instinct or masculine by attitude (and sometimes disposition);
Fashionista side, tomboy unaffectedness or even the non-descripts who prefer to stay under the radar;
Gregariously extroverted self, quietly introverted being or even hanging somewhere halfway;
Bookworm side, social divaocity, closed-off walls-up ways, opened up to every adventure-ness, traveler/nomadic spirit or home is the only hearth kinda human being…
Or everything and anything else in-between…

Embrace yourself.  And believe it or not all these differences, every single last blessed one of them, is what makes YOU beautiful, whoever you are and whatever you look like and wherever you’re from.

Ladies, I’ve gone through a lifetime of self-doubt and self-loathing, comparing myself endlessly to her, or her, or even her.  I’ve been force fed to believe in order to be attractive I had to look a certain way, behave a certain way, speak a certain way and I failed.  The consistency of these failures repulsed me, made me feel weak and worthless.  I deserved to be ignored, overlooked, to be treated as if I were invisible.  I trained myself to look down at the ground, not making eye contact, never engaging because I was afraid of the disgust I would see in the gaze of others as they beheld the embodiment of what a loser truly was and that…sucked. 

I used to stand in front of the mirror and stare at myself, wishing, plotting…I would change everything!  A complete overhaul and it was all focused and centered on everything external.  Maybe liposuction, a jaw lift (if there was such a thing), or could they put in some sort of stilts under my skin to be taller?  I scoured every news outlet and pursued every avenue of information that would lead me to the best way to go about doing this and it never really worked.  I still failed.  And once again a cycle of self-loathing began.

However, and to my credit, aside from my closest friends no one really knew how deep this dislike for myself coursed through my very blood.  I avoided pictures like the plague, as I mentioned before in a previous blog, and would beg people to tear up or cut me out of ones they wanted to display to the world. 

I was exhausted.

So when did things change then?  When did I learn to embrace me?

Funny how one tragedy can lead us out of another and that in essence is what caused me to take a good long hard look at myself. 

I’ve spoken at length about a lot of personal tragedies and pains in my blogs.  It has never been in order to garner pity or sympathy but rather to help anyone else who may be feeling alone and struggling.  So to that degree, I wrote at length about my childlessness.  Those blogs where I’ve referenced it were never ones that I wrote with a bounce to my step.  Rather the opposite, I often found myself in tears as I put thought to paper.  The return though, private messages and emails thanking me for sharing, was worth the price of the tears. 

Just to recap though, after a lot of medical procedures and multiple forays into the world of reproductive therapy, I came out at the end childless and heartbroken, being told in essence that becoming a mother would be unlikely.  I retreated into myself for a long time trying to grapple with this news, blaming myself squarely for the biggest failure of my existence while at the same time knowing intellectually that it wasn’t my fault, it was simple biology.  That didn’t matter.  None of it mattered. 

Through the course of those nightmarish years (and yes, I mean years, not days or months), while I smiled through every bit of that excruciating pain, receiving news of my own friends getting pregnant, watching bouncy babies being born and cuddling them close while wishing for my own, trying to be there for those who needed me, be the person I had been, never thinking my pain was more epic than anyone else’s…I was dying a little inside, manically searching for something that would put balm on my wounded spirit and fill the void in my heart.

I’ll tell you now that never happened, not really.  The void will always be there and I will always, always yearn.   To-date I never willingly speak of this particular topic.  Yea, sure I will reference it when it’s important, to help someone else through it but I personally do not need to discuss it in reference to myself or my own emotions.  It’s terribly closed off of me but that’s okay, this is my coping mechanism.  That’s not to say I’m in denial, it’s simply that I’ve dealt with it and have moved along (somewhat). 

But this comes right back to why I’m even writing this blog.  With the advent of this ultimate failure of my very reason for existing (for some would argue that’s why we, women, exist, on a biological level and that’s for procreation) I had to fall back on something to help me live on and I assure you that was the trick, how to continue to breathe. 

Thus with little other option, I started to begin the journey of self-realization.  Oh god, that sounds so cheesy but it was precisely that.  Now, Folks, everything I’m about to say is no real big secret, nothing you do not know or haven’t heard many times over but it helps to sometimes read it in context as opposed to random inspirational quotes, memes, wooden block etchings…I needed to answer these questions:

What was good about me?
Would I want to know me, if I weren’t me?
Were there any redeeming factors in me even when I did wrong?
Did I have some sense of morals?
Was I selfish or self-centered (beyond what is human and normal)?
Was everything that I saw in the mirror really that bad if I broke it down piece by piece?
Did it truly matter what others thought of my body, looks and what did that say about themselves if they did?
Who was I trying to impress beyond God?
What purpose did outer perfection serve if the inside was ugly?
What was beauty really worth?
Did I need to learn to love myself despite all these flaws?

And there were way more questions but I systematically started to go about seeking out the truths about my own psyche and it was wondrous because I began to shed all these notions about beauty that I had so adamantly clung to throughout my life.  Now that I reflect on it, maybe it was because there was still hope that if I changed enough, improved, beautified myself to the extent where it was socially acceptable, I had something to look forward to and that this…me…wasn’t it.  I would be admired and adored and fawned over and somehow I would attain nirvana, the Holy Grail in a way. 

But because I hadn’t been able to attain that ultimate body that I wanted, or everything else that was supposed to be on the outside, it reflected in my attitude both on the inside and out.  I didn’t like me so there was no way that others would want to get through the barriers/walls I had erected around myself.  I hid my true self away from the world.  Yet, as these questions, one at a time, were being answered I let go.  I laughed a little more freely, I wore what I wished instead of fretting that I was being judged.  I went without make up and let my hair be and stay greasy because I was just too lazy to do anything about it.  More importantly, I started to speak my mind, share my knowledge, wit, smartassary without caring one wit.  In essence, I was slowly releasing myself.  And it was glorious.

Do I still fight these demons?  Yea, of course I do.  I still avoid the mirrors and when someone wants to take a full length picture, I hide.  I post pics of myself on FB and wonder if one day a person won’t meet me in person and say I totally misrepresented myself.  And I can tell you that I often feel like the step-child from fairy tales who is ignored, even at the age of 43.  But here’s the thing, it’s okay to feel this way.  I’m okay with it.  Because I can only be who I am and anyone who wants me in their lives will have to accept me as I am.  That maybe the biggest lesson learned here: self-acceptance.  I can’t, in fact, be her, or her, or even her.  I can be me and that, to you my dearest sisters, is the message here.  Be your authentic self.  Let go of these ideals in which we bind ourselves.  Free the mind first and everything else will follow.  Slay some of your demons, don’t let them control you.  Fix which you can, embrace that which you can’t.  Accept you will have your good, and bad days because you have the right to having them but do not allow anyone else to make them good or bad days.  Take that power away from them and keep it for yourself.  And know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this journey of self-loving is a long and complicated one full of barbs and walls and scary monsters that try to push you off course and have you doubting yourself.  Don’t let anyone/anything win.

I hope this blog helps anyone who is struggling.  Again, you are beautiful, however and whoever you are.

Lots of love going out to all my ladies.