You are not beautiful.
I’ll say it again so it sinks in.
You are NOT beautiful.
There will always be someone with a sharper nose, firmer butt cheeks, more moderately-toned muscles and a smaller waist.
But it doesn’t make them any better of a person than you.
At what point in time did ‘beauty’ become the common base for the human race? How did we get to where we are now, part of this sick and twisted society where preaching the phrase ‘everyone is beautiful’ became our way of consolation, making ‘beauty’ the ultimate goal everyone felt the need to be granted?
How did telling ourselves that we are beautiful become part of a war to self-love? How did we get here, to this point where self-love is so rare it has to be taught and pursued?
Let me set things straight. You are not beautiful. And don’t you for one second think that telling yourself you are makes you hero of this battle of life. It does not.
Because that would mean that ‘beauty’ is to be something earned or granted, something so glorious and powerful that it is such an important thing (maybe even the most important thing to some) to own.
It would break my heart to know that so many people find revolution in being told they are beautiful.
Because that is not what you are made of. Beauty does not define me, and it sure should not define you. If you’re reading this, you’ve made it through all the days you thought would be the end of you — you are strong. You are still standing tall at heart with, at the very least, a speck of will to carry on — you are brave.
Here’s the universal truth; beauty exists, but it shouldn’t be what defines you. You are not your thigh gap, flat chest, thin arms or flabby stomach. You are (or at least, should be) a wild, fierce, loving creature with the desire and potential to make a difference, a tender heart that can love with every inch of your being, soft lips that can be as honestly and thoughtfully blatant and truthful as you please, accompanied with your pair of rough hands that testify to all the pain you suffered and most importantly, conquered.
And unless that is your definition of beauty, you should not allow yourself to be defined within its four walls. Simply because you are so much more.
And here’s another fact you ought to remember: your mother did not let you sit in her womb for 9 months, nor did she endure the painful endeavor of child birth, forgetting every ounce of pain the minute she laid eyes on your flawless newborn self — for you to grow up hating every bit of your body, to hate this life you were given, to loathe the skin you have been deemed, to feel unworthy to a life mercifully and gracefully handed to you.
There will be days you will look at the mirror and feel ashamed. That’s okay. We all have bad days. We all have moments of weakness we let the words of others define how we feel about ourselves. But don’t you ever let those bad days make you forget that you are a warrior. Let the goodness and courage of your heart rule over the tears that flow down the curves of your cheeks and creases of your lips. It’s okay to have hit rock bottom, as long as you don’t stop there.
I am in no way saying it’s wrong to be pretty nor is it bad to have all the right curves at all the right places. No way. I’m saying love yourself and every bit of your skin because it will be your home for as long as you live on Earth. If you want to change something about your body, then do it the healthy way. But don’t let good be the enemy of perfect. And most of all, don’t let the opinions of others build the lens through which you see yourself. You and you alone live under that skin, so you best take care of it. After all, it spends all its days working hard to keep you, and only you, alive. What benefit will there be if you spend all your days pointing out your flaws and hating on them when those days could be spent spreading love and making a change?
So turn that implicit form of selfishness to self-love and see yourself grow in all the marvelous and wonderful ways of what beauty truly ought to be….
..The best version of you.