Beautiful

Growing up I was that girl that just "didn't care" about her appearance and never obsessed about her weight.
My clothes were always at least 4 sizes too big for me and if you asked me what my favorite color was my answer would have been, "Um... I guess earth tones..." (I'm not going to pretend like I don't STILL love my earth tones). My poor mother practically begged me to explore a little more color in my wardrobe. But I fought passionately for my right to look frumpy and unfeminine. It's somewhat painful to look at pictures from those years because of how truly terrible it was.

Much has changed since those days.. I take care of my hair and much prefer to wear it down rather than pull it back like I always did before. I wear the basics when it comes the makeup and I'm not afraid to doll up when the occasion calls for it. I wear skinny jeans and I own at least one pink shirt that I, in fact, have worn more than once. The sure sign of a changed woman, right?

Maybe...

I'm beginning to wonder if that little girl with the raspy voice and the collection of army men ever really stopped hiding from the risk of not being found beautiful. Here I am at 22 years old and I'm more aware of my weight and what my eyes can only judge to be "mediocre" than I've ever been before. I never thought I'd be one of those girls that constantly picks their physical appearance apart as if tearing stitches from a garment to prove how very cheap and worthless it really is.
I suddenly care... I suddenly own the sad and shallow belief that a big portion of my worth can be gauged by how much attention, or lack thereof, I get when I leave the safety of my apartment and brave the public eye. It sickens me... I don't even know this person I've let myself become.
I'm convinced that my self loathing can only be rooted out from within... It's this whole choice to love yourself and accept yourself that I've been fighting with for my entire life. Whether I'm hiding my femininity and "not caring" about how i look by wearing a trash bag, or if I'm trying on every single article of clothing in my wardrobe to find something that will make me feel beautiful and yet still feeling defeated when I've thrown the very last shirt on the floor, alas, either way I am found without love for myself.
In the end this really isn't about my physical appearance... I am left feeling wanting when I judge myself,
body and soul. The moment that I cannot embrace a piece of myself I begin to try and improve/manipulate another part of myself to draw attention away from the insufficiencies I've found. That's not what we call balanced or healthy. It's not how i was made to live... bound by my own rejection of self, and beauty therein.

I want to be whole... I want to love myself enough that I can also love others well. I want to believe the truth about what it means to be seen as captivating. I want to accept and embrace the beauty that knows my name and my frame.

I want to just be.