Somewhere along the way,
my kind of beautiful became ugly.
It was lesser, rounder, taller, spottier . . .
I believed it.
I nodded in the mirror at each chip in my reflection.
Is one tooth smaller?
Where could I have lost that piece? Surely I would remember losing a piece of myself.
Is that eyebrow higher?
I can’t believe I never noticed it. Or perhaps the other one is drooping. Oh no, age is setting in.
Are my toes knobby?
That must be what the nail artist was talking about in her native tongue. I’m a freak.
Where are all these freckles and moles coming from?
Surely I’m not in the sun that much. It’s as if they want to shout my insecurities.
Is that another five pounds?
It must be the salt, or that extra bit of chocolate or starch. No tight clothes now.
Is my nose crooked?
Sports morphed me into this mess. I hope a house doesn’t fall on me. No profile shots; in fact, no more photos.
Too ugly. Too worn. Too flawed.
Or, maybe, too critical! Maybe too worried about measuring up to a model, a mold, a myth. Maybe certainly gave me something to ponder.
We all begin beautiful. Every one of us is perfect until we are told, and accept, we are not. As time passes, the very markers of beauty change.
My ugly mindset was masking my beauty-full possibilities. I am beautiful. I am lovable. I am hopeful. I am bold. I am wicked smart. I am a real woman and want to inspire girls to be the same. It’s time to make the Ugly Beautiful transformation, starting from within.