Tonight for some reason I am hit with all my insecurities. I am not what I would call an overall insecure person, but every now and then I have a hard time dealing with my physical appearance. That’s pretty much the only thing that I ever really get insecure about, at least regarding just myself. (Relationships are a whole different story.)

Maybe it’s because I don’t doubt myself in other arenas that I “must” be plagued by my appearance. Maybe it’s because I’ve just asked myself to have an incredible amount of confidence in myself — enough to literally impoverish myself, to quit my job, to put all my eggs in one basket: writing. Maybe it’s because I’ve been brainwashed by society or my parents or whoever else is available to blame. Maybe it’s because I really am not all that pretty.

Does it even matter why?

[sigh]

I’m sure I’ll regret posting this tomorrow, but tonight, I just need to get it off my chest.

I want to be beautiful. I want to be sexy. I want to be well-dressed. I want great legs, a toned stomach, and a nice butt. I want a stronger jawline. I want men to stop when they see me. I want women to be jealous. I don’t want to wonder if I’m one of the best-looking people in a room; I want to know that I am.

And I don’t want to have to put much effort into any of it.

Hahaha, I’m so reasonable, right?

I don’t know where all these desires came from, or when, or why. When I was younger, I wasn’t really concerned about this stuff. I may even have been a little vain. Every boy I liked eventually liked me back (although usually not at the same time). All my family friends said I was pretty, and you could tell that they meant it. I ate anything and everything, and I never gained a pound. I guess I thought it would always come that easy.

Actually no. It wasn’t always easy. In middle school, I swore not to shave my legs until high school, because some guy had made fun of my friend for her leg hair, and I was determined to prove that he was wrong. In high school, I refused to see a dermatologist, because I wanted to prove that I was stronger than my pimples, that I would always be more than just a face, pretty or not. In college, I took pictures of myself mostly naked to get more comfortable with my body. Even today, I sometimes catch myself thinking I should skip a meal to lose some weight, and then I kind of mentally slap myself because I know starvation is not the path to happiness. (Quite the opposite, in fact.)

Just so no one thinks I’m a horrible or delusional person, I’ll say that I am well-aware that I’m fairly lucky. I have good genes and decent metabolism, and I’m not ugly. I know that. But sometimes, like tonight, it’s not enough.

Nights like these, I try to remember the few really good moments that I have and hold on to. Like that time on the bus when those two girls asked that guy who he thought was pretty, and they pointed to themselves and he said no, and they pointed to a couple other girls and he said no, and then they pointed to me, and he paused, and he whispered, Yes. Or that time my friend told me she kind of hated how no matter what I wear, I manage to look cute. Or that time he looked at me and told me I was a goddess.

I don’t have a good memory, but I remember these things.

But the times I have felt truly beautiful have been few and far between, and often things happen later to color those memories, to make me feel like maybe my self-perception was wrong. Like someone telling me my makeup looked trashy. Or someone telling me the top I was wearing makes my boobs look saggy. Or someone telling me I have a big butt.

I don’t have a good memory, but I remember these things.

I guess ultimately the problem resides within myself. Oh sure, the people whose opinions matter most to me could probably do a lot to help me stay strong, but the truth is, beauty is subjective, and apparently I don’t meet my own criteria. How do I change that? How do I look at myself through the same eyes as those I set upon other people? Or is it that I should be looking at myself with different eyes?

How do you change your definition of beauty to necessarily include yourself?

If anyone has the answers, I’m all ears.

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