Tuesday, October 13, 2015

I'm a little ugly.

I believe that everyone is beautiful.  I do.  It's just that some people...aren't particularly beautiful on the outside.  Some people are just ugly.

I'm sorry if that's shocking.

I am one of them, by the way.  I'm not the queen of the ugly folk, but I think, objectively, I'm not a stunner.  My eyes are kind of buggy.  I have thin lips, a weak chin, and I swear my hair isn't a real color.  It's not blonde exactly; nor is it brown.  Sometimes it looks red.  I've got a hook-nose thing goin' on.  And that's just my face!  I've given birth to four humans, y'all.  My middle is basically made of string cheese.  I've also breastfed four humans.  Breast is best, but not for the aesthetics of the chest.

"Breast is best, but not for the aesthetics of the chest." -Jamie Wahl

On a related note, I rarely find time to shave my legs (it's okay, my leg hair is blonde; I just avoid side-light when I'm in shorts).  Also, I'm pretty sure I don't use my calf muscles for anything, because I can gain forty pounds and they are still shapeless sticks of skin and bone, struggling through life under my top-heavy girth.

I'm a little ugly.

If you were playing along this far waiting for the actual meaning of the title, I'm afraid I may have disappointed you.  You can judge that book by its cover.

Yes, I look like a female Michael Cera with mange most mornings, but it doesn't matter.


Because I can think.  And I can have empathy for people.  And I can write.  And sing.  And paint.  And take care of my family.  And a million other things that girls these days grow up thinking they can only do if they are pretty enough.  I wasted a lot of time getting discouraged by the weird-looking lady I saw in the mirror.  Somehow, that googly-eyed dork reflected back at me made me feel "not enough" for my dreams, or even my day-to-day life!  What can she do?  She's pretty plain.  Pretty normal.  Pretty "meh".  She's silly even to try.  Nothing extraordinary going on here, folks.  

Except that there is!  I wrote a book!  In eight years, I've had four children and written a whole, cohesive, fairly good book.  And I bet you've got the equivalent of a novel going on in your life.  A seemingly insurmountable struggle that you're stepping over LIKE A BOSS.  My little vampire comedy is not Dickens, but it's a lot of fun, and I wrote it.  And I was ugly the whole time!  

My self-esteem should not be dependent on my beauty.  Nor should yours. 

Our eldest child was a beautiful newborn.  Prefect little round head with wisps of copper hair.  Alert, curious blue eyes.  He was gorgeous.  Our second child was...a baby.  My husband and I got so tickled observing the difference in people's reactions when they came to visit us in the hospital.  With David, they "ooh"ed and "ah"ed and sang his praises.  But with Jack it was a reigned-in look of surprise and then, basically, "You had a baby!"  *jazz hands*  It's okay, people!  We can see he looks like a purple skin potato; we still love him!  Why is it so very easy to see that a child's worth is not based in their appearance, but almost impossible when we are judging ourselves?  

Just from a quick poll of my friends, I'm not the only gal to feel pressured to be as beautiful as possible.  I'm not the only woman to feel "not enough".  But what's so easy to see when I look at them, besides the beauty that they do possess, is that their beauty, whether abundant or restricted to their eyes only, is COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT.  The shape of my face has absolutely no effect on my ability to reason.  The dark purple circles under my eyes (which I think are now permanent) don't have a single thing to do with my talents.  

And they have even less to do with my worth.

I've been stressing over the looming publication date.  Not because I don't have confidence in my work; I am proud of my book, and the hours upon hours that went into it.  I've been freaking out because there's a party.  With a signing.  In person.  And I'm basically Jennifer Lawrence without the whole face-like-Helen-of-Troy thing.  The awkwardness isn't as endearing when you only pass for female with copious amounts of mascara.  So, I'm confident in my work and ready for it to face the ravages of the internet, even the reviews section on amazon, but I don't feel "enough" because I don't belong on a runway?  How RIDICULOUSLY ILLOGICAL is that?  Am I a woman of reason, or not?  (Don't answer that, closest friends.)

I am good enough even though I'm a little ugly.  I believe you are as well.  I'm talented even though I'm a little ugly.  I suspect you are, too, even if it's a totally different skill set than the one God gave me.  I can make good art and still be a little ugly.  Did someone apply a yard stick to DaVinci's face to check for ideal symmetricality before heralding his work as brilliant?  Of course not, because he was busy making ALL THE THINGS!  

To clarify, I'm a fan of the "real beauty" campaign.  I routinely give a "thumbs up" to the hashtag #effyourbeautystandards.  I'm all for making sure girls of every size and color and shape and ability or disability feel beautiful (or at the very least don't feel the need to starve themselves).  I just think, as an even uglier adolescent, I would've liked to hear someone refrain from insisting I was beautiful despite my visage of acne, and tell me I was valuable instead.  Somehow, the definition of those two words has merged.  Beautiful is nice.  But valuable?  Worthy?  Capable?  So much more important.  And not at all the same. 

So, fellow ugly friend who may be feeling "not enough", don't let the flaxen-haired, angel-eyed, perky-chested muggles get you down.  You can do great things even while you're a little ugly.

I certainly don't intend to waste any more time bemoaning my resemblance to a slow loris; I've got a sequel to write!


p.s.
Jack turned out great, btw.