I’ve pretty much resigned myself to looking like a half-put-together goofball most of the time. It just takes too long to do the hair and the make-up and the dress-up. I have more important things to do—like write my blogs.
That doesn’t mean I’m a slob. I shower—almost every day. I wash my hair. I comb it out and try to coax it into a position that doesn’t scream “Loser.” My clothes don’t always match, but they are clean—unless I’ve just eaten chocolate syrup or spaghetti. And I brush my teeth about 8 times in every 24-hour period (that’s a story that will have to be told another day). What I’m saying is, I’m not a raging beauty, but I’m tolerably presentable.
And that’s just fine with me. It’s easy for me to be casually indifferent to my appearance, because I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m married to a man who was able to see past the outside. He fell in love and married me when I weighed 300 pounds. When I informed him that I was serious about doing whatever it takes to lose weight, he said (and this is an exact quote, forever burned into my memory—even if I get alzheimer’s one day, I will still remember this):
If you want to lose weight for health reasons or because it will make you feel better about yourself, that’s fine and I’ll support you in whatever you want to do. But don’t think you have to lose weight for me. I couldn’t love you any more than I do now.And I believed him. And my world became safe. And I lost the weight.
But, back to being beautiful. My heart just breaks as I watch my girls navigate a harsh, judgmental world where so much emphasis is placed on how you look. I worry. Will they be as lucky as I am? Will they find someone who will cherish them for how they think and how they act, rather than how they look? And will they be able to brush off the darts and arrows flung at them by visually oriented idiots?
I hope so, because my girls are the three most beautiful people I know—inside and out.
Now Playing on my intended iPod: Beautiful by Christina Aguilera