Beautiful

Okay, so I don't necessarily think I'm ugly. But I've never really fully liked the way I look. I make a lot of jokes about my height and my weight (I'm a little teapot, short and stout...). I think my cheeks are too chubby. My smile is crooked. I wish I had more flawless skin. And dear God, hello, wrinkles.

But lately, I've been getting a lot of compliments. It's still jarring sometimes, being called beautiful every day. My first instinct is to deflect (and I almost always do), but then good breeding dictates that I say "thank you"...and then I promptly change the topic. When I think of "beautiful" I think, Lucia. My mother. Stars. The sea.

Every time I get complimented, I still feel surprised, amazed that such a thing was said to me.


I've seen, been in, and participated in so much ugliness. And sometimes, I resent that I am (passably) pretty. I feel like it takes away from my credibility as a human being. So I've always put more premium on being charming. On being smart. On being on the defensive.

Because, in the past, I feel like my looks have gotten me into a lot of trouble, given me more responsibility than I can handle, or given me the kind of attention I do NOT want to have.

And so, despite my thinking that I've been at war with myself because I don't like the way I look, I've actually hated myself because the rest of the world likes the way I look. (I think.) I've been called pretty, cute, and now, beautiful, and I've always thought it was the world's way of getting something from me. I've been warned about being "too pretty", that I should be careful, that I should be more aware of how my looks affect the people around me. And hence, the resentment with the way I look.

But. Maybe I am getting more beautiful as I grow older. And maybe, that's okay. Because, I think, what people really see is happiness. And happiness begets beauty.

So, here is my attempt to come to terms with the way I look: I embrace my happiness wholeheartedly. And, okay, I am beautiful. Maybe not in the physical sense, (sorry, still really struggling with accepting that), but holistically. Because...

...my daughter must grow up knowing that...

I love my stretch marks, they're battle scars, and I've emerged victorious.

I love how my breasts show signs of 20 months of breastfeeding, because, seriously, it was the most superheroic thing I've ever done.

I love how my biggest scar is a monument to my biggest achievement and the bestest birthday gift I ever had. (I was in labor on my birthday, Lucia was born the day after.)

I love how the dark circles and the wrinkles show how I still wake up in the middle of the night, just to make sure she's sleeping soundly.

And I love that this new and better definition of beautiful is because of how my body has transformed since becoming a mother. And that she is my happiness. And this happiness has come to define how I am beautiful.

So for the sake of my daughter. Okay, for my own sake...I'm, er, beautiful.

I'm beautiful. (There.)

Deal with it, Universe.

Because I need to deal with it, too.