I have been fighting with myself for so long that it is time for me to own up and admit something to myself that I have been trying to deny for a really long time.
I am obsessed with being pretty. Or being considered pretty. One of the two.
I feel like this has gone beyond what one might consider a normal desire to be attractive. This is persistent and continues despite what Husband might tell me. I think that I could ask him everyday to tell me what is pretty about me and I would need it just as much on the 1,375th day as I did on the first.
I think that my biggest problem is that my mind rebels against what my mind considers pretty. You know, thin; long, straight hair; perfect teeth; an adorable smile; a defined jawline and chin (singular chin at that); delicate hands; and the list goes on and on and on. I feel like I don’t measure up and by the U.S.’s standard of beauty, I don’t. For the sake of my self-esteem, I won’t go into how I don’t measure up, but I’m so aware of it. I see it everywhere and I see how I need to change in order to fit that standard.
On the other hand, my mind COMPLETELY rebels against that standard. My heart, my SOUL, knows that this standard is a lie. These superficial things don’t matter and I don’t want to give into the superficial notion of beauty. I don’t want to admit that I, like so many others, have been caught and trapped by these standards and feel forced to constantly compare to see where I come up short. I don’t want to admit that I have been SO trained by our looks-obsessed culture.
The truth is that I have.
It’s real to me. It has the power to completely destroy my day. It has the power to make me feel completely unattractive to the guy who can’t get enough of me and then to reject him instead. It has the power to make me look into our bathroom mirror every time I cross its path and judge myself harshly.
I know that if it wasn’t for my faith, I’d be one of those girls. I’d be one of those girls who spends every moment being perfect and pretty. Whose entire self-worth is centered on her looks and the feedback she gets about them.
Because of my faith, I know in my head that these things don’t matter. I know that they’re not important. So why is it still so important to me? Why do I beat myself down every day for not doing what it takes to shape up and slim down? To achieve “that look”. I find that I compare myself to 17 year old athlete girls who haven’t grown up or filled out, somehow believing that they are attractive and desirable. What is this monster inside of me that tortures me every day? Why can’t I let it go?
Sometimes I wish I could pick a magic weight number and be satisfied with that. It would be even better if it was my current weight because then I could be satisfied. It’s not a number for me, though. It’s a look, it’s that desired look that I know is fake and airbrushed. That look that I will never get. That look that keeps me trapped inside myself, never content, never enough, always too far away…