I think I grew into my beauty!
It wasn’t a sudden reality. It wasn’t a epiphany after searching.
It was small realizations, found over time.
I was never the girl who looked in the mirror and picked herself apart, but I also wasn’t the girl who confidently acknowledged with a smile and a head nod a known beauty. I was unfortunately indifferent. I wouldn’t have called myself ugly and I wouldn’t have called myself beautiful.
I simply didn’t consider myself at all.
But now, I’m learning to appreciate my beauty.
I wake up and I love that even on a “bad hair day” my hair rarely looks bad. I love that I can curl it, straighten it, pull it up or wear it down. It’s extremely unpredictable and I find that endearing.
I love that my fingernails are automatically shaped the way I like them and they grow fast. But, they are also a dead give away for my level of stress. The chaos of my life is measured by the length of my fingernails.
I love that my eyes are the same color as my mom’s, a shade of green that changes according to what outfit I’m wearing. I love the small lines surrounding them that show the amount of laughter I’ve experienced in life.
And, skin! How can I express enough thanks to the family for my skin? A few wrinkles in my forehead, but my skin allows me to get away with the age I feel, rather than the age I am. It allowed my junior high embarrassment to be isolated to awkwardness and incoordination, rather than what someone would notice right away. And my pink cheeks I use to hate for giving away that embarrassment, I now adore because it’s often accompanied by a shy smile and an unnecessary compliment.
What was once ignored or hated, has now become what makes me beautiful.
Recognizing these small marks of beauty in myself, has changed the way I perceive other people. I intentional start looking for the beauty in them, past the facades, the masks, the coverings.
Imperfections are no longer flaws to camouflaged, but character telling us a story and my story of beauty is just beginning.