Ugly Duckling, painting by Kimberly Rasar
After surviving the terrible high school years with a skin disorder that I learned to manage (mostly), I’ve generally had moderately clear but VERY even skin. No one would guess that I dealt with years of itching, pills, steroid shots, testing topical ointments, huge pus-filled blisters all over my skin, and social stigma. And when I had minor breakouts as an adult, you could never tell after the fact.
However after all of this recent stress, my skin started getting horrible. It’s clearing up some, but now I have black discoloration marks all over my face. It feels strange for me to look in the mirror and my face is all different colors. I’ll admit it: It upsets me. It frustrates me.
And it’s forcing me to reevaluate my expectations of beauty, and how they differ regarding others vs myself.
I actually cried the other day because I decided I was going to start looking “pretty” again but couldn’t find foundation in my shade. Before, I would just make an effort to dress up all lolita-like to feel pretty; now it seemed I need makeup to accomplish that feeling, and I was frustrated that it wasn’t easily accomplished. (Note: I’m not judging anyone else because we all have different life experiences and individual goals and views, but that feeling of NEEDING makeup is no bueno for me.)
And I feel a bit like a hypocrite.
I promote self love and self acceptance. I tell other women to do what they feel makes them happy, loved, and beautiful; that they are exquisite in their uniqueness and to not let anyone tell them otherwise. Yet I do. I tell myself otherwise, which in my opinion is worse than allowing anyone else to.
So.
Here I am, taking another look at why I’m so hard on myself vs others, of my perfectionism, and at how I see my own beauty. My journey never ends because I’m ALWAYS self evaluating and rarely take my feelings at face value. I only want to understand myself completely, through and through.
Lofty goals. But hey, I have my whole life.