You see, I'm afraid I've been thinking (a dangerous pass time, I know). As I stood in the bathroom this morning, I looked at my tired and worn down reflection, and I came to realize something that I hadn't given much thought to before.
Let us take a trip to yesteryear, circa 2008- September of that year, to be exact. I had spent the entire year to that point meticulously planning out the details of my graduation party. I had used every morning over cereal, every lunch break, and every tired evening to search for ideas and decorations and music. I had sat at every graduation party over the summer, thinking, "mine will be this good...mine will be better!" I had spent hours cleaning out the garage and setting up the tents. I had sweated and cried and panicked until there was no time left to do so.
And now, it was all gone. It was all for nothing. I had hated my party. Why?
I was at a time in my life where I was lonely and insecure, and felt left out of everything. I tiptoed in my sister's shadow and I feared that I would never be able to leave it behind. I didn't like my body, my mind, or my situation. As many teens are, I was plagued by a desperate need to prove myself to the youth of my age. To that point I had been mostly left out or ignored, and didn't fit in anywhere. I had a roof over my head, but in my heart, I felt homeless. I had been so sure that my graduation party would be the way to impress everyone- my ticket to social acceptance.
And then, the unthinkable happened, and the majority of the young people in my age group left early to go to a yearly event in a neighboring town, completely omitting the dancing aspect of my party, as there was no one left to dance. (Oh the cruel irony- I had a live band during dinner at my party, and they left to see live bands. So glad I bothered inviting them- they clearly cared a lot about me.) While other parties that year lasted until midnight (and some later), mine ended promptly at 10:06 pm. That time is burned into my brain, because of how painful that night was for me. I was heart-broken.
Flash forward two years, and I've now acquired a couple friends- one of which was my "unboyfriend", as I like to say. He and I were in a relationship of sorts, but he refused to admit as much. Reading that last sentence, one might immediately wonder why I didn't just dump his sorry butt. The answer, put simply, is that I didn't know any better. I had felt so unloved and so abandoned to that point by everyone in my life who wasn't blood related, that I thought- truly and deeply- that what he and I had was true and unbreakable love. In my scared and lonely little brain, I rationalized to myself that he had a good reason to not want a public relationship with me. And so, I stayed with him.
For two years the "not dating" status went on, until I finally decided I wanted something real. I gave him an ultimatum, and he chose a public relationship.
Fast forward another year, and now I was broken. There is no better way to describe it. The reason we broke up shook me to my very core- made me question everything about myself, including my need to even live. I had been a fragile and unhappy mess before, but this was a whole new level of misery. I did everything I could not to face it, but one day it hit me head on, and from that day forward I would be a changed woman.
For nearly two years after that, I went about life in a blur. Looking back, I scarcely remember a thing about those couple of years. Of what little I remember, I recall sitting on my bedroom floor, crying so hard that I couldn't breath- so hard that after a while of doing so, I couldn't cry anymore. I had thought I had found my home- my place in society- and now here I was, feeling homeless again. Worse than homeless- I felt outcast, unwanted, unworthy even.
What had once been a dislike of myself, and a constant need to change, had turned to a loathing of myself- a deep, dark hatred for everything I knew to define me as my own person. I began self-harming again, and worse this time. I barely ate, barely slept- barely did anything. Depression had swallowed me whole, and I struggled to understand what was happening to me and how to stop it.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I happened upon a new friend or two, and things started to look up. I began leaving the house again, being social, and trying to improve myself.
Flash forward another few months, and tragedy has struck once again. The man I was interested in turned my world upside with an unexpected move that would haunt me for years to come, and the person I had been growing close to was on her way to moving out of state. And then my closest friend unexpectedly lashed out and walked away. I was left to, once again, try to pick up the pieces of myself that were always falling apart. I began to question myself, and whether I was even meant to have friends, or a life worth living. I could feel myself slipping again, and digging my way back to the top would be a long, hard struggle.
I spent a couple years searching for myself- spiritually, emotionally mentally. I knew that I had changed- that my ways of thinking were now certainly different- but I didn't realize until just recently, just how drastically time has changed me.
Today, as I stared at myself in the mirror- at the messy, greasy hair, the melted makeup, the pimple on my shoulder, and the mole on my chin- I suddenly realized that I didn't care about those things anymore. I realized that even in my most unkempt state, I find myself beautiful. I realized that I'm an extremely far cry from the person I was even just a year ago, and that I've grown far beyond what I ever could have imagined.
As I stared at my reflection, I could feel the tears welling in my eyes, as I realized how blessed I am to have found a way to be happy with who I am, instead of always seeking perfection, and instead of relying on other people and their approval to make me happy. Eight years ago, I was lighter in body, but so much weightier in soul.
Today, I want to celebrate how much I love me for me. I want to celebrate the realization that I am the only human whose approval I need in order to be happy. I want to celebrate how happy I am to be myself.
I love every roll, flab, stretch mark, pimple, dimple, and mole. I love every quirk, oddity, weirdness, and crazyness. I love myself when I'm wearing makeup and I love how beautiful I am without it.
Today, I am beautiful, and not because I meet some magazine-perfect standard, or because I'm the most successful business woman. It's not because I have a lot of friends, or get invited to all the parties, and not because I get attention or compliments from other people. I am beautiful because I am me, and because I love me. Eight years ago I had a beauty I didn't understand, and yet an ugliness in my soul from all the hate. Today, I celebrate being rid of that hate, and leaving only the beauty that I once failed to see.
Today I am me, and that's the best perfect I can ever be.
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