Faith Forays

Which of Us is Beautiful?

The shiny girls walk into the room. Their hair is perfectly coiffed, artfully arranged to look as if it falls that way naturally, disguising the hours of labor it took to make it appear so. They have tasteful arrangements of jewelry and their clothes are stylish, modern, from the best stores. Bright white, perfectly straight smiles. Tight fashionable jeans and shoes with just a bit of heel. Slim bodies, curves in just the right places. They fit into their size two clothing. Their faces are glowing, but not from sweat or exertion – from the layers of foundation and expensive mascara that cement the look. They laugh and joke and stand there, composed, beautiful. Shining.

I take a mental stock of my appearance. Baggy shorts, a comfy t-shirt, shoes that I can slip on as I walk out the door. Clean face, bare of any makeup, scarred in places from wars with hormones. Hair that curls wildly about in no preconceived pattern, streak of pink fading and askew. Teeth that have never been whitened, that have never met braces. A body that fights me and my efforts to be healthy, a body that is trying to destroy me from within, a body genetically predisposed to lumps and bumps and unseemly proportions. My clothes that come from clearance bins and thrift stores. I haven’t done my eyebrows in a while – haven’t had the time. I’m glowing too, but it’s sweat from the heat of the day.

I think, these are the kind of girls that people see as attractive. Not me. They are shining, perfect, contained. Artfully decorated. Composed. Opinions never designed to contradict. They love children and they love church. They are always in a good mood. They expect everyone to like them, because no one ever hasn’t. They are perfect.

I am not. I am volatile. I have issues. I speak loudly. My laughter echoes through the room, is not contained in girlish giggles. My opinions clash with those of many and I am firm in holding out against the popular belief. I don’t particularly like children. I sometimes have physical reactions to how much I dislike church.  I cry and cannot tell you why I am crying. I take medication to help me survive. I am broken. I expect people to dislike me, to judge me, to hurt me and then leave me, because many have. I am not composed, artfully decorated, contained.

I think, they are the ones that are desirable. Not me. Not me.

I don’t like to look in mirrors or see myself in pictures, because it reminds me of how uncomfortable I am in my body. I avoid talking to people who knew me when I was younger because I hate the look in their eyes as they take in my new largeness. I hate when things don’t fit or styles are unflattering. I hate that I have to explain to people what medical syndrome I have that makes me overweight.

So I hide behind my gregarious laugh and I hide behind this computer screen. When I write, I escape to another world of my own creation. I sing songs in secret but believe deeply that I can never sing them in public, because no one likes to listen to the fat girl. Every so often I get nervous to eat in public, afraid that others are judging what is on my plate because of what makes up my body.

They are the beautiful ones. Not me.

Oh, little heart. How I grieve for you. Because you do not know, you cannot see, how perfect you are. Yes, your wild hair. Yes, your thrift store clothes. Yes, your awkward sentences and cackling laugh. Yes, your fondness for the eclectic. Yes, your big, fat, perfect body. Yes, you. You are a beautiful one. You are a desirable one. You are seen as attractive. You are perfect, too.

It makes me so sad that you cannot, will not see it. How dangerous would it be to acknowledge your artfully arrayed self as the shining perfect thing it truly is? How scared would the world be of you then? For you would have stumbled upon its best kept secret – that belief in your own beauty, your own perfection, is all that is needed to really be beautiful.

You are a beautiful one. You.

We are the beautiful ones. Every single last one of us. Small, large, bird-like laughter or booming roar. It does not matter. We are all the beautiful ones, and we are also the only thing that keeps this secret from being revealed. Designer clothes or thrift store, shiny hair or wild, and every possible thing in between.

We need only to believe in our own beauty, our own perfection, for it to be true.


featured image my own.

  • Emily Isabelle Mayhew

    Beautifully written! Loved it :)

  • Poppy Sansom

    I’m socially awkward, I dress for comfort, I don’t wear make-up, and I loathe pictures of myself that aren’t carefully picked by myself. But you? You’re STUNNING. You’re pink streak is awesome, your intelligence is refreshing, and I’m sure that it’s worth clashing opinions with people when you’re passionate about your beliefs.
    Thank you for writing this. x

    • Becca Rose

      Thank you :) I’m so glad it resonated with you.

  • Poppy Sansom

    Also, I’m a slight grammar-nazi, and I just realised I used the wrong ‘Your’, DAMN IT. My sentiment remains.

  • Lisa Elizabeth Wieczorek

    Well said! Beautiful piece!!!!

  • Sarrah Anne Crow

    This is exactly how I feel. Like honestly, who gave you permission to be inside my brain? I kid…sort of. 😛 This article is beautifully written and now I’m in tears. You are a lovely human. <3

    • Becca Rose

      Ahh! I’m so so glad you can relate. thank you <3

  • Rebecca Zinner

    This piece rings true to me and I’m sure it will resonate with many young (and perhaps not so young) women everywhere. Thank you so much for reminding us that we are so much more than our imperfections!

  • Alexandra Lask

    This is beautiful and it made me feel a little bit better about my own lumps and bumps and imperfections. I am a little overweight and wear thrift store clothes and hand me downs, but the things that I try to focus on are the pretty color of my eyes and the intelligence in my speech patterns. I think that beauty is in the Individual but sometimes I have a hard time seeing it in myself because I admire those beauties in the magazines and on TV. I want perfect hair and well manicured nails. So this was a lovely reminder of the important things.

  • Lina White

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  • Lina White

    Such a beautiful, inspiring piece that I want to take with me everywhere I go to remind myself that I am beautiful.

  • Andrea Guzman

    Beautifully written and very relatable. Thank you for writing such an inspiring piece. Insecurites can sometimes overtake us and its nice to have a reminder of what is really important. Great job! :)

  • Selina Wilken

    Loved this post. The truth is, we are who we are. We could do a million things with the time we have: perfect the art of bagpiping, learn how to knit amazing sweaters, write thousands of novel outlines that never get finished, make fanart and post it online just for the thrill of the comments from strangers, get a 9-5 job and really spice up our lives with fancy eco milk on weekends… there is NO right way to live, and no right way to be. Life is a process. The body is a process. “Some are born more equal than others” is only true if you have already decided within yourself what is equal. You can do a million different things with you life, and only YOU can decide whether that is enough, because you can never do everything, be everything.

    It’s so hard. But we must just keep trying to be the best us we can be – however we happen to be at this very moment – because what else can we do?

  • Dani Christopher

    really needed this today, thank you

  • Hans Johan Svensson

    Well written! Wellsaid!

    Luckily fashion, or the opinion of what is supposed to be beutifull, has allways been changing. Today women are sold as coathangers, in fashion, and are not encouraged to express themselves beyond the clothes they are portraying.
    They continue to look very depressed to em.

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