When you look out over a garden do you ever wish that all the flowers were the same? Do you ever look at a sunflower towering over a field and wish that it were a rose? Probably not. There are hundreds of different types of flowers and that’s part of their beauty. The lily and the daisy are both beautiful in their own way and we appreciate them for their differences. Why can’t we do that with ourselves? Why do we think that only certain measurements and certain colors and certain shapes are acceptable as beautiful. We need to fight against it and embrace our own kind of beauty. Let’s celebrate our diversity! Instead of seeing flaws look into the mirror and see your uniqueness. Be beautiful the way you are.
A while back I wrote an essay about this and I’d like to share it with you. I know that it’s kind of long for a blog post, but I hope it will inspire you to look beyond your insecurities to the beautiful person you are.
Three Portraits of Beauty
Amanda
Amanda grew up in southern Indiana, but she doesn’t have a drawl. If anything her accent is reminiscent of the long consonants of the north where she attends school. She’s a year younger than most of the other juniors, which makes her feel self-conscious at times. Her maturity level makes up for whatever she might lack in years. She carries herself with the quiet dignity of someone who knows exactly where she’s going.
Amanda has the petite figure of a gymnast, but gymnastics was not her preferred sport, except maybe when the summer Olympics were on. Her real dream was to become a world class figure skater. She imagined herself wearing cute outfits, dancing gracefully across the ice, and winning gold medals in the Olympics. She still dreams about it sometimes, but for the most part she’s satisfied with her major in communication studies. Since she’s no longer trying to win gold, she’s not completely sure what career she wants. She does know that she loves people and wants to help them, maybe by working for a nonprofit organization.
Amanda stands in front of the mirror trying to fix her brown hair. It won’t curl, and it won’t lay flat, instead it waves down to her shoulders. She tries pulling it up, gelling it, or straightening it, but whatever she does, she ends up back at the mirror trying to fix it. While she wrestles with her hair, she loses sight of its natural blond and red highlights. She doesn’t think about her hazel eyes which change colors to match her outfit, or her long perfect nails.
Amanda, Emily, Kaelin, and Caitlin were all studying together when Amanda started complaining about her hair.
“My hair is terrible today!” Amanda moaned as she fussed with it.
“My hair looks worse than yours,” Emily said almost as a boast. Her light auburn hair was frizzy because of the dry winter weather.
“Oh, please,” Kaelin scoffed, “My hair is worse than either of yours.” She removed a white headband from her hair and allowed her dark locks to dangle limply in her face. She had been working in the cafeteria all day and her hair was showing it.
“You are all beautiful. God crafted you. . .” Caitlin tried to remind them.
“I know, I know,” Kaelin said. “And we don’t need to wear make-up.”
They had all heard Caitlin sermonize on modern women’s dependence on make-up. They knew it well enough by now to say it themselves. God made them beautiful. They shouldn’t care about how they look. So on and so forth.
All day long American women are bombarded with images of beauty – advertisements, music videos, TV shows, movies. We are encouraged to model ourselves after the unattainable beauty that only make-up artists, film editors, and lighting crews can create. Even as children Barbie sets a standard we ourselves will never be able to live up to.
Courtney
Courtney is sixteen. Her bright red hair curls halfway down her back. She has soft blue eyes that are untouched by contacts or glasses. Freckles dance across her fair face and up and down her pink arms. She’s only five feet three inches, but her strong build gives her an advantage over many people taller than she is. More than once she’s used her strength to intimidate disrespectful boys into behaving more like gentlemen.
Courtney hasn’t graduated from high school yet, but she knows what she wants to do with her life. She’s going to be a marriage and family counselor. She’s been through some rough times in her short life and she wants to help others who are going through similar hardships. Even though her main goal is to help people, she also desires to live comfortably. She dreams of buying a big, beautiful house on a lake, designer purses, and the latest fashions. She jokes that if she can’t earn the money herself she’ll marry into it, but everyone knows that she doesn’t have to worry about that.
At the age of sixteen, Courtney sullenly walks up and down the aisles of clothes. She used to love shopping, but now it depresses her. The stick-figure sizes don’t fit her. Her hips are meant for childbearing, not skinny jeans. She diets and exercises, but she knows she’ll never be able to wear the little shirts the other girls in her class wear. Her mom has tried to encourage her to embrace her strong build, but she can’t help comparing herself to the petite girls in her class or her taller, thinner, older sister.
“We’re just different,” her mom explains, “We’re built like J-Lo and they’re built like Fergie.” Her mom’s comments don’t help.
Courtney and her family were sitting around the dinner table when Courtney and her sister, Caitlin, began discussing make-up.
“Courtney, you don’t need to wear make-up. You’re beautiful the way you are.” Caitlin’s tone had more anger in it than encouragement. She was frustrated by her sister’s inability to see herself.
“But I want to wear it.” It’s a weak defense, but Caitlin had already dismissed her other arguments.
“You don’t need it. God made you beautiful.”
“Stop it! You’re making me feel bad about myself.” The conversation ended.
I wish I could blame the media for our insecurities. The images of those tall, thin, women who have perfect skin and hair that always does what their stylists tell it to do – they certainly don’t help, but we can’t completely blame them for our self-esteem problems. Just like we can’t completely blame designers who make clothes only skinny girls look good in. These may be factors in our terrible self-esteem, but we’re a part of the problem too.
We create and feed our insecurities by focusing on our imperfections, comparing ourselves with each other, distorting our self-image. We match up our weaknesses with their strengths. No matter how much weight we lose or money we spend on plastic surgery, we will never be satisfied. We will always want what we can’t have.
Caitlin
Caitlin is taller than most girls, but shorter than most guys. She has dark brown hair that is thick and unruly. Her skin is fair and refuses to tan, though it’s more than willing to burn. Her eyes are big and blue, but sometimes they turn green to match her shirt. When she is bored, nervous, or uncomfortable she bites her nails, which leaves them ragged and covered in scabs. Her figure is somewhere in between normal sizes. Jeans are usually too small or too big, and shirts are usually too tight or too baggy.
When Caitlin was in high school, she wanted to be a novelist. She imagined herself living the romantic life of a starving artist fighting to make a living in a rough and unappreciative world. After a few college writing courses she gave up on that dream – writing novels wasn’t as easy as she thought. As she put one dream aside God gave her another one. She wanted to become a missionary. Now she’s trying to learn Russian in preparation for becoming a long term missionary to the former Soviet Union.
Caitlin doesn’t wear make-up, partly because she thinks it makes women feel dependent on external sources to feel beautiful, but partly because she doesn’t like looking in a mirror long enough to put it on. During the day she tries to forget what her face looks like – how much she dislikes it. Looking in mirrors only reminds her of the things she’s trying to forget.
He’ll see your picture on Facebook and never call you. It’s a stupid thought. A woman from her bible study was trying to set her up on a blind date. She didn’t want this strange boy to call her, but at the same time she was terrified he wouldn’t – that he would reject her without giving her a chance. You’re not pretty or beautiful. Your chin is undefined, you’re too pale, you’re plain, and you’re unattractive. No one will ever want you.
She fought the lies with all the things she told her friends.
“God made me beautiful. He loves me. I am His bride. He crafted me.”
She lay in bed with her eyes shut tightly. She remembered Jeff and his rejection and all the rejections before that. The pain and insecurity flooded through her just like they did when the wounds were fresh. She wasn’t good enough. She’s not good enough. She never will be good enough.
I’m not going try to tell everyone that inner beauty is all that matters. We’ve all heard those speeches before – we shouldn’t care if we’re physically beautiful or not, beauty’s only skin deep, etc. As true as that is, it’s not enough. We want to feel physically beautiful just like we want to be loved. I think it’s the way we’re wired. Before we have any other ambition, before we even know what a career is, we want to be told we’re beautiful. It’s the one aspiration we never give-up. We spend millions of dollars on plastic surgery, workout equipment, make-up, designer clothes, and miracle creams trying to achieve the beauty that will fill the voids of loneliness and despair. If I was beautiful people would like me better. If I was prettier I would feel better about myself.
Beauty becomes our religion – our quest. But how do we obtain that which by definition is beyond the reach of the average person? We change the definition. We recreate beauty in our image – the image God gave us. We build an ideal which is diverse and all encompassing. We make a standard that builds up and encourages instead of destroying and excluding. I don’t know if it’s possible, but maybe if one by one we change our own perceptions we will someday find the beauty in ourselves.
athenasbeauty 