why can’t we just believe, once and for all, that we are beautiful?

I’ve shared this on here before but want to start off by saying it again to start off this post.  My friend, Phill, used to always begin every voicemail saying, “Hello, Beautiful.” and every so often he would look at me with endearing eyes and say, “You’re so beautiful.” and then continue on like he didn’t just say the best three words a girl can hear.  (Okay, one of two best 3-word phrases.)  For a moment or two after he’d finished saying the word ‘beautiful’, I believed him.  For those few moments, I felt beautiful.  I truly believed that I was beautiful.  But like all good things, those blissful moments disappeared and soon left me in a sea of self-doubt surrounded by things I perceived as ‘beautiful’.

I’m just going to come out and say it: Why can’t we just believe, once and for all, that we are beautiful?  Why do we rely on others to tell us ‘You’re beautiful.’ when we should be the ones who confidently declare it to ourselves every single day?  And why do we let foolish thoughts hold us back from finding the beauty within ourselves?

I’ll be completely candid here and admit that my teenage years were filled with struggles, mostly surrounding negative body image.  There were days, maybe even weeks, when I would completely avoid mirrors.  Other days I’d be stuck in front of one until I was content with what I saw.  My point being this: I didn’t think I was beautiful during a time of my life (damn teens) when being beautiful was all that mattered.

Even though I’ve become quite comfortable in my skin (FINALLY!), I still have days when I must grin & bear it even though nothing feels nor looks right to me.  There are still moments when I walk past other girls on the street and feel my 16-year old self-loathing kick in wishing that my legs were longer or boobs were smaller.  And every once in a while I’ll have mini panic attacks down Michigan Avenue wishing that I, too, could afford to be as stylish with bottomless wallets like those businessmen’s wives and suburban girls with daddy’s credit cards. 

Okay, I went off on a little rant there.  Oops. Or as Max says, “Uh-Oh.  My point is this: The only person’s opinion that matters is your own.  Every single person could tell you that you’re beautiful, but none of that matters if you don’t see it for yourself.  Although I’m like every other girl who longs to hear the guy she likes say, “You’re beautiful”, it’s really just words unless you believe it yourself first.  So tell yourself “I’m beautiful” and then it will be more wonderful when that guy says it to you too.


Note: Sorry everyone.  I’m still not feeling like myself yet.  But fortunately it’s not mono, and just a lovely case of exhaustion.  Lots more rest, tea, and good friends are filling my next few days so hopefully I’ll be back to my blogging ways soon.  Trust me, I am in desperate need to crank out some good soul-searching posts for my own detoxifying means. 


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