Beauty is In the Eye of the Beholder

“I wish for one day, I could be you.”

Only, most times it’s not them wanting to be me. It’s wanting to look the way I look.

In my line of work, I see a lot of women. Mostly, I see a lot of women with insecurities, who look at themselves with distortion. Too skinny, too fat, too ugly. A lot of them wish they were someone else.

And regardless of what I tell them, they can only believe their version of the truth. They only see what they want to see, that ugly self-image of themselves in their minds.

I have never wanted to be anyone else. All my life, I have wished for things. Wished for abilities, and talents, and character. Wished that I didn’t get breakouts, wished that those little fatty bits here and there would go away, wished for muscles and strength and tone. Wished for a hundred and one physical things.

But never once in my life have I wished to be someone else.

How I looked made me who I am, in many ways.

Wishing to be someone else seems like an ultimate betrayal of self. It’s telling myself that I am not worth of being me. What physical features I was born with has nothing to do what I am inside.

I used to be skinny; all sticks and bones with major acne, big pink glasses and a toothy smile. A guy who sat in front of me once called me the Queen of Nerds. He wasn’t far off. Would I change that phase of my life?

Hell no.

Like most women, I worry about how I look. The zits and bulging bits, the cellulite I have on my thighs. Heck, I would like to be a couple of inches taller. Maybe have that curvy hourglass figure people used to covet so much. However, somewhere in my life, in the haze of insecurity and uncertainty, I learnt a couple of very important things.

Most women are much too critical. They see flaws in themselves that they can never see in anyone else. Women always believe that other women are much more beautiful.

“Oh, at least you don’t have my thighs.”

“Are you kidding? You haven’t seen the amount of flab I have on my stomach.”

“Honey, compared to you, I’m like Blubber.”

Sometimes I wonder if they have such difficulty accepting themselves. Almost like being trapped in a cycle of reinforced self-doubt. Almost like being in a competition to prove that they aren’t worthy. Is it so difficult to accept a genuine compliment?

I’ve learnt that you take the good with the bad. It’s true that no one’s perfect. Everyone is beautiful, in their own way. It is embracing those things that make one beautiful that is more important.

Small things that set you apart. The way you laugh. The way your face lights up when you’re talking. Your humour, your wisdom, your personality.

We live in a world where beauty is superficial, where what is considered beauty is in the airbrushed pages of glossy magazines. We live in a time where women strive to be a body type some may never be able to achieve. We live in a world where beauty is flawless perfection and impossibly achieved.

I can tell you that you are beautiful, and you may never believe me.

As for me, I will take my chances.

I am imperfect. My nose is a little strange. I wish these little hairs wouldn’t grow by the side of my mouth. I still occasionally worry about the day where all the chocolate will catch up with me. I know that my bum is a little jiggly and my thighs will never regain their cellulite-less glory.

But I love myself and every little bit of me.

Self worth is self love. And god knows, I have enough of it to go around.