It's all changed. What this used to be, to what it is now. It's sick. I started this to try to figure out if I can believe I am beautiful without looking beautiful. To figure out if what I have inside me (what God gave me) is enough. And I've turned it into a game. The same game as last year, actually, with different rules. "Try to look as beautiful as you can without wearing makeup." I've limited myself to that. Except, in every other aspect, i've excelled. I buy more clothes, I play with my hair, I eat less. All because I still so desperately want to be physically beautiful. I lack in height, and I believe that is my biggest flaw. It's certainly what I hate most of myself. So I try to be beautiful in order for people to get past the fact that I look like a child. But it doesn't work.
----
I stopped there. I got distracted or too sad to go on. I just finished watching a Taylor Swift special on TV. Love that girl. I was looking at her life. Her stories. Her heart. And, her makeup. And was jealous of it all. I cried, praying desperately that I could write music and live a life of heartbreak and adventure. I saw the movie Tangled tonight, which really touched my heart. This child is kept in a tower, being told it's for her own protection, when finally, she breaks free. It terrifies her. It excites her. There's a line she says, when she is exactly where she wanted to be. I am going to butcher it big time, but it was something like, "This is my dream. Here it is. I'm terrified. What if it isn't what I wanted it to be? And...what if it is?"
I am tired of sitting in my room, crying about the life I'm not living. I'm tired of being scared to talk to someone I don't know. I'm tired of living in one city and working at minimum wage. And most of all, I'm honestly tired of being bound by not wearing make up. Therefore, I do believe, I am ending one month early. This is killing me. This fast was supposed to give me freedom, but instead it's kept me bound by my looks. I just want to feel like a real person. Wearing makeup or not wearing make up isn't what is going to make me know I am beautiful. It's a heart thing that I have yet to fully grasp. And I am not going to kill myself, crying, frowning, sadly that I can't play dress up.
What I've learned is that it's possible to survive without make up. And that I miss it a lot. It's fun to play with; it's fun to create. What I've also learned is that my beauty is way beyond anything physical, yet, learning that, and really knowing that has nothing to do with what I am doing or what I am not doing, but where my heart is. My heart has yet to fully experience beauty. And that's okay. Someday it will, whether I happen to be sporting bright red lips or a pale naked face. Real beauty is more than that. I feel there's nothing I can say without rolling my eyes at the complete cheesiness. But it's true. And I'm not sure how to end this post. I kind of seeing it being done hesitantly and sloppily, like this fast.
Yet oddly enough, beautifully.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
November 3, 2010
I am sincerely over this. Could ya tell?
I feel as the days go on my face is getting wearier and colorless. My smile is fading as well.
Two more months. Aye.
I feel as the days go on my face is getting wearier and colorless. My smile is fading as well.
Two more months. Aye.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
October 9th, 2010
Things are worse. Not wearing make up has made me feel less beautiful in every way. I have lowered my self worth and forcibly wear jeans and an oversized tshirt, or sweats as often as possible because it is the only thing I can pull off (hardly, actually). I throw my hair up in a bun because it's easy and sloppy and out of the way instead of actually trying to look nice and failing. My face. Has worsened me. It's somehow gotten dirtier and acne has formed in places that used to be clean as day. I'm angry right now. I am bitter, upset, and ugly. My closet, my floor, and my additional clothing rack has been collecting new pieces every weekend "Maybe if I have these things, I'll feel better, prettier somehow." Nope. I hardly wear any of them. I revert to my go-tos (big tshirt and comfy pants). I do not feel beautiful at all. I think less of myself. I believe I am less attractive, never classy, never sexy. I hardly feel like a girl. I feel gross and dirty. This fast is failing me. It was a bad idea. I hate myself for it.
I stand next to my friend in line at the store as a lady tells her in a rough hispanic acent, "You go to hollywood and make movies. You are so beautiful." As I smile and nod from behind. The lady looks over at me, insincerely, and only to be courtious, "Both of you." Yeah, right. Nice cover up. I know I'm not pretty. Not that pretty. Not "go to hollywood and make movies" pretty. (Though ironically, that is what I want to do...only behind the camera, cause let's face it - I can't handle adding another 10 pounds...)
I don't smile more. I don't know why I wrote that before. I guess what I meant was, I try to smile more. I know smiling more would help. But I'm not happy. I'm miserable. Miserably homely. Disgusted with myself.
This isn't healthy. I feel ashamed looking at myself makeupless, and I will feel ashamed if I break the fast too early.
But honestly, none of it matters. Dressing up. Wearing makeup. When it comes to me and my mess, it has never mattered. I was hardly liked when I did wear make up. And without it. It's pretty much the same, with less surfacey compliments.
It's about learning to love yourself, right?
Bullshit. I'm lightyears away from that.
So. Lost cause, I'm gonna call it.
Lost cause.
I stand next to my friend in line at the store as a lady tells her in a rough hispanic acent, "You go to hollywood and make movies. You are so beautiful." As I smile and nod from behind. The lady looks over at me, insincerely, and only to be courtious, "Both of you." Yeah, right. Nice cover up. I know I'm not pretty. Not that pretty. Not "go to hollywood and make movies" pretty. (Though ironically, that is what I want to do...only behind the camera, cause let's face it - I can't handle adding another 10 pounds...)
I don't smile more. I don't know why I wrote that before. I guess what I meant was, I try to smile more. I know smiling more would help. But I'm not happy. I'm miserable. Miserably homely. Disgusted with myself.
This isn't healthy. I feel ashamed looking at myself makeupless, and I will feel ashamed if I break the fast too early.
But honestly, none of it matters. Dressing up. Wearing makeup. When it comes to me and my mess, it has never mattered. I was hardly liked when I did wear make up. And without it. It's pretty much the same, with less surfacey compliments.
It's about learning to love yourself, right?
Bullshit. I'm lightyears away from that.
So. Lost cause, I'm gonna call it.
Lost cause.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Wednesday September 1, 2010
(I day dream of January when I'll be able to have blacker eyelashes and redder lips. But I'm scared I will still cry. And I will still not accept myself.)
I have four months left and what have I learned? I have learned that I can survive without makeup. And that everyone is prettier when they smile. I have learned that. Even myself. I can get away without wearing makeup, when I smile. It surprises me really. And I've learned how sadly insecure so many other girls remain. I would in no way call myself confident in appearance just yet, but I have come to some contentment. Not wearing makeup is not the end of the world. It's not even that terrible. And more often than we think, other people aren't thinking about what our faces look like. In fact, more often then we think, other people still think we're beautiful. I have learned that. "I honestly can't even tell you're not wearing make up." Which in my head, I could go the negative route and think "Well, then, obviously, I'm just ugly no matter what." But that's not true. What is true is what people (that love me) have said. No, what God has said. What He has made. And what they are saying, what He is saying, what He has made, is beauty. They mean compliments in telling me they couldn't tell. They couldn't tell because they don't care. And let me explain. In my saying they don't care, I mean...they don't care what I look like. Really. They can compliment me when I look nicer or cuter or prettier, but if I don't, will they stop loving me? Will they stop caring for me? Not at all. Not even an ounce. I like dressing up. I like playing with clothes and make up. And I have a good chunk of friends who like the same thing. And they like having that in common with me. But I am confident that if I completely stopped dressing up, doing my hair, and looking pretty, that they would still love me. It would not be a huge loss on the scale of who I am. Because I am not my clothes. I am not my hair. I am not my face. I am my heart and soul. And that is what they really love.
And that is what I am really learning.
And that is what I really want the whole world to learn.
One of the most beautiful girls I know broke my heart this weekend when she had just gotten out of the shower, cleaned her face, and put on her PJs. She was waiting for her friend to come over. A female friend. Her friend called and said her and her guy friend were on their way. As soon as my friend got off the phone she said "Oh no. I didn't know she was bringing a guy, ah!" And she immediately changed into jeans and put makeup on her face. "Why?!" I said and thought both very loudly. I could not understand one bit. And realized, "This has changed me." Eight months ago, I would have done just the same thing. Eight months ago, I DID do the same thing. I was over at my guy friends apt and I went home to take a shower. I got out. Got dressed. Put my hair in 70s style braids and applied makeup to my face. Only to spend, maybe twenty more minutes with them? Eight months ago, I could not leave the house without covering my blemishes, brightening up my cheeks, thickening my lashes. And now, I go spend every day with a clean face, completely vulnerable, often sad about it, but I do it. And I smile more. Because smiling is my beauty. And I used to hardly ever smile. Because I just didn't feel like it. And the makeup helped.
But now I smile.
And I am realizing, I am learning. I have changed. Though not entirely, I have.
And that is beautiful.
I have four months left and what have I learned? I have learned that I can survive without makeup. And that everyone is prettier when they smile. I have learned that. Even myself. I can get away without wearing makeup, when I smile. It surprises me really. And I've learned how sadly insecure so many other girls remain. I would in no way call myself confident in appearance just yet, but I have come to some contentment. Not wearing makeup is not the end of the world. It's not even that terrible. And more often than we think, other people aren't thinking about what our faces look like. In fact, more often then we think, other people still think we're beautiful. I have learned that. "I honestly can't even tell you're not wearing make up." Which in my head, I could go the negative route and think "Well, then, obviously, I'm just ugly no matter what." But that's not true. What is true is what people (that love me) have said. No, what God has said. What He has made. And what they are saying, what He is saying, what He has made, is beauty. They mean compliments in telling me they couldn't tell. They couldn't tell because they don't care. And let me explain. In my saying they don't care, I mean...they don't care what I look like. Really. They can compliment me when I look nicer or cuter or prettier, but if I don't, will they stop loving me? Will they stop caring for me? Not at all. Not even an ounce. I like dressing up. I like playing with clothes and make up. And I have a good chunk of friends who like the same thing. And they like having that in common with me. But I am confident that if I completely stopped dressing up, doing my hair, and looking pretty, that they would still love me. It would not be a huge loss on the scale of who I am. Because I am not my clothes. I am not my hair. I am not my face. I am my heart and soul. And that is what they really love.
And that is what I am really learning.
And that is what I really want the whole world to learn.
One of the most beautiful girls I know broke my heart this weekend when she had just gotten out of the shower, cleaned her face, and put on her PJs. She was waiting for her friend to come over. A female friend. Her friend called and said her and her guy friend were on their way. As soon as my friend got off the phone she said "Oh no. I didn't know she was bringing a guy, ah!" And she immediately changed into jeans and put makeup on her face. "Why?!" I said and thought both very loudly. I could not understand one bit. And realized, "This has changed me." Eight months ago, I would have done just the same thing. Eight months ago, I DID do the same thing. I was over at my guy friends apt and I went home to take a shower. I got out. Got dressed. Put my hair in 70s style braids and applied makeup to my face. Only to spend, maybe twenty more minutes with them? Eight months ago, I could not leave the house without covering my blemishes, brightening up my cheeks, thickening my lashes. And now, I go spend every day with a clean face, completely vulnerable, often sad about it, but I do it. And I smile more. Because smiling is my beauty. And I used to hardly ever smile. Because I just didn't feel like it. And the makeup helped.
But now I smile.
And I am realizing, I am learning. I have changed. Though not entirely, I have.
And that is beautiful.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
August 15, 2010
An Ugly Year. A very very very Ugly Year. I am so over this. I am depressed and disgusted with myself. I am SO over this.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
July 20, 2010
Today, I wore mascara. For all but three minutes, it sat there, on my eyelashes, surrounded by a naked face. I was getting ready to go out. I was tired of searching through an endless pile of patterns and cut cloth just to be disappointed by how it looked on me. I was bored with playing a never ending game of bobby pin or no bobby pin? Braid or no braid? Ponytail...or no ponytail?
I walked into my sisters room, sat down next to her predictable mess of face painting products and grabbed the little pink and green bottle I was once so familiar with. First, I curled them (the lashes). Then, I painted them. And I felt...nothing, really. As I sat there, cross legged, starring into a dirty mirror, performing a ritual I had not performed for seven months now, I felt, nothing. No change, no saddness, no joy. It was as if, it was nothing. I wasn't shocked and shamed at what I had just done. Nor was I relieved or feeling at all beautified. I liked the way it looked. I liked painting, creating, thicker-darker-more-luscious-lashes. But I didn't care.
That took one minute, and after looking at myself for another, I went into the bathroom and washed it off. I was not-so-shockingly stoic throughout the whole thing. It was just a curiosity forming itself into an answer. And, though I hate to admit this, the face I looked at after wiping away the excess baby shampoo and water, was a face that felt, looked, and laughed refreshing. It was a face I have come to be quite familiar with most recently. And though, not always a face I enjoy - it was definitely a face that was safe.
It's not all that grand of a story though, really. No epiphany. No heartwarming end. In fact, it's sadder, in perspective. This actually made me realize what I have been doing and why. I love make up. Yes. I love wearing it. I honestly believe it makes a lot look prettier. I believed it made myself prettier. But I was wearing makeup for so long, looking the same bland ol' face. I didn't believe I was getting any prettier, or ever really was.
The "fast" then, was a cop out. An easy way to blame the ugly. "Well, I'm not wearing any makeup." It's easier this way, to get by with the lack I feel I carry. Cause if I wear makeup, and am not satisfied with my look, what else can I do? Nothing. Cause makeup and fashion and the right hair style-that's where the beauty is. To me. So. If I have all of that, and still see nothing head-turning-room-silencing-jaw-droppingly gorgeous, what else can I do? Give up. Wear less make up (or no makeup). Dress comfortably, but not outstandingesquely. Pull my hair back or let it flop on the side of my face. Whatever. Either and all ways- I'll never be satisfied with this flesh.
So. That's where I'm at now.
I walked into my sisters room, sat down next to her predictable mess of face painting products and grabbed the little pink and green bottle I was once so familiar with. First, I curled them (the lashes). Then, I painted them. And I felt...nothing, really. As I sat there, cross legged, starring into a dirty mirror, performing a ritual I had not performed for seven months now, I felt, nothing. No change, no saddness, no joy. It was as if, it was nothing. I wasn't shocked and shamed at what I had just done. Nor was I relieved or feeling at all beautified. I liked the way it looked. I liked painting, creating, thicker-darker-more-luscious-lashes. But I didn't care.
That took one minute, and after looking at myself for another, I went into the bathroom and washed it off. I was not-so-shockingly stoic throughout the whole thing. It was just a curiosity forming itself into an answer. And, though I hate to admit this, the face I looked at after wiping away the excess baby shampoo and water, was a face that felt, looked, and laughed refreshing. It was a face I have come to be quite familiar with most recently. And though, not always a face I enjoy - it was definitely a face that was safe.
It's not all that grand of a story though, really. No epiphany. No heartwarming end. In fact, it's sadder, in perspective. This actually made me realize what I have been doing and why. I love make up. Yes. I love wearing it. I honestly believe it makes a lot look prettier. I believed it made myself prettier. But I was wearing makeup for so long, looking the same bland ol' face. I didn't believe I was getting any prettier, or ever really was.
The "fast" then, was a cop out. An easy way to blame the ugly. "Well, I'm not wearing any makeup." It's easier this way, to get by with the lack I feel I carry. Cause if I wear makeup, and am not satisfied with my look, what else can I do? Nothing. Cause makeup and fashion and the right hair style-that's where the beauty is. To me. So. If I have all of that, and still see nothing head-turning-room-silencing-jaw-droppingly gorgeous, what else can I do? Give up. Wear less make up (or no makeup). Dress comfortably, but not outstandingesquely. Pull my hair back or let it flop on the side of my face. Whatever. Either and all ways- I'll never be satisfied with this flesh.
So. That's where I'm at now.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
June 30, 2010.
I still curl my hair. I try to look as best as I can, with what I've got. Though, I'm bland in the face and round in the body. I hate looking in the mirror. I hate it. I want to break it. Lately, when I catch a glimpse of myself being happy in an outfit for just a second, I do not look in the mirror the rest of the time I am getting ready, because I know, sometime, I will figure out something that I hate about it, and change, and just get more frustrated. So when I am satisfied even for a second, I try to stay that way, so I do not end up putting myself through the agony of changing clothes, messing up my room, and eventually hating myself entirely because I can't seem to lose a single pound no matter how little I eat or how much I work out. The mirror is my worst enemy at the moment. That, and myself. Why did I do this fast again? Because I care too much about how I look? News flash: it's only getting more evident and difficult as the year goes on. I literally cannot look at myself in the mirror right now. I want to cry. And this sucks. This sucks. This sucks. Damn you, Rachel Zoe. Damn you, Sarah Michelle Gellar. Damn you, self, for being hungry, damn you, food, for being tasty. Damn damn damn.
Monday, June 28, 2010
June 28, 2010
Yeah, yeah. I suck at this. We know that. I have words saved, but it's hard to round them up and send em out when it's about this topic imparticular. Right now, what I have to say is easier. I'm struggling between two things:
and
While, it could look like my struggle is simply food vs. TV...it's mostly, food vs. looking like Sarah Michelle Gellar on TV (with her being so skinny and all). That's my current debate. Call me cliche, I'm a teenage girl who struggles with body image. Woot.
and
While, it could look like my struggle is simply food vs. TV...it's mostly, food vs. looking like Sarah Michelle Gellar on TV (with her being so skinny and all). That's my current debate. Call me cliche, I'm a teenage girl who struggles with body image. Woot.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
June 8, 2010: I think I'm cheating.
What's it say in the rulebook about clear mascara? I suppose the rulebook, really, is within my own self, and my own self feels okay about it, but also feels like I should feel like I'm cheating. I mean, all it really does is clean up these things on my eyes to make them more noticeable...but then again, I suppose that is what regular mascara does, only in a heavier way. I'm not sure. There's really no point. Cause I put it on, just to test it out, and then I saw the rest of my face and it made no difference. I was still unsatisfied. And the whole point of this is to not care so much about what I look like, right? Yet, I'm tiptoeing around rules when I was supposed to just go cold turkey. (Which I have-though I never much cared for turkey anyways). I'm fooling myself, again. It's a struggle, now. Not so much as it was in the beginning. Now it has settled in. But still a struggle. I'm finding ways to go around this "looking ugly while not wearing makeup" thing, and failing. My own eyes see one thing and that's every scar and line I so desperately chose to hide all those years before. I don't see beauty in my skin, yet. And I am not trying all that hard to get there-to that place of contentment. Instead, I am doing what I have always done, and that is whatever it takes to not look the way I do.
I have today, joined my parents in their quest to lose weight, by starving myself of all foods and joy by following the guidelines of a book called, 21 Pounds in 21 Days. Which has actually proven to work, for my folks. But day one is ending for myself, and I want to die. It doesn't help that I am reading a book where the first whole section is about a women's quest across Italy, and all she talks about is food. And it also doesn't help that I happen to be stashing a bag of pretzels within reasonable arm length, and have been secretly snacking on it in between herbal teas and berry drinks. I'm a nutcase. And the worldly simplicity of my happiness lies in complete contradiction with one another and I am overcome with confusion as to what exactly I am to do about this. I am about to tell you a secret, you invisible reader of mine. (Honestly, I'm writing to a wall, while pretending I'm writing a book worthy of all eyes and hearts). Anyhow, I'll spill this secret anyway, that I have been saying to myself for over a week now, and am at a complete loss of how to solve this issue: I find my truest happiness in eating and my purest depression in gaining weight.
So I'm left with nothing. No solution, no happy medium, and definitely no win-win. I eat, and am joyful, yet within ten minutes of finishing the meal, I look at myself, and become severely saddened by my reflection. And I have thoughts of being thin, and it brings me great comfort, so I try this, losing weight thing, yet I'm left hungry, and bitter. As I am now. And I am torn at how to fix this.
This year isn't about my appearance, right? Then again, my whole life has most often been about my appearance. And I've never been happy about it. So do I eat, joyfully, only to be kicked in the face with my own guilt and self-loathing, or do I starve myself...on this diet, ish, thing, to find out what I really would look like thin and beautiful (in my eyes), depressing myself of the very joy a simple taste gives me? And do I leave my eye lashes dull and lifeless, resting peacefully (almost invisibly) upon my eyelids, or do I awaken them abruptly with a coat of clear liquid only to satisfy the part of myself longing to be beautiful while ugly?
I'm at a loss. In all aspects. I am standing in the center of a road with two paths layed out in front of me, begging to be choosen, with the most confusing descriptions: Happiness and Depression, or Depression and Happiness. And I have been standing here so long, I finally just sit down, in the dirt, slightly teary eyes, cause I know this is going to be a tough decision. I think I'll sleep here tonight.
I have today, joined my parents in their quest to lose weight, by starving myself of all foods and joy by following the guidelines of a book called, 21 Pounds in 21 Days. Which has actually proven to work, for my folks. But day one is ending for myself, and I want to die. It doesn't help that I am reading a book where the first whole section is about a women's quest across Italy, and all she talks about is food. And it also doesn't help that I happen to be stashing a bag of pretzels within reasonable arm length, and have been secretly snacking on it in between herbal teas and berry drinks. I'm a nutcase. And the worldly simplicity of my happiness lies in complete contradiction with one another and I am overcome with confusion as to what exactly I am to do about this. I am about to tell you a secret, you invisible reader of mine. (Honestly, I'm writing to a wall, while pretending I'm writing a book worthy of all eyes and hearts). Anyhow, I'll spill this secret anyway, that I have been saying to myself for over a week now, and am at a complete loss of how to solve this issue: I find my truest happiness in eating and my purest depression in gaining weight.
So I'm left with nothing. No solution, no happy medium, and definitely no win-win. I eat, and am joyful, yet within ten minutes of finishing the meal, I look at myself, and become severely saddened by my reflection. And I have thoughts of being thin, and it brings me great comfort, so I try this, losing weight thing, yet I'm left hungry, and bitter. As I am now. And I am torn at how to fix this.
This year isn't about my appearance, right? Then again, my whole life has most often been about my appearance. And I've never been happy about it. So do I eat, joyfully, only to be kicked in the face with my own guilt and self-loathing, or do I starve myself...on this diet, ish, thing, to find out what I really would look like thin and beautiful (in my eyes), depressing myself of the very joy a simple taste gives me? And do I leave my eye lashes dull and lifeless, resting peacefully (almost invisibly) upon my eyelids, or do I awaken them abruptly with a coat of clear liquid only to satisfy the part of myself longing to be beautiful while ugly?
I'm at a loss. In all aspects. I am standing in the center of a road with two paths layed out in front of me, begging to be choosen, with the most confusing descriptions: Happiness and Depression, or Depression and Happiness. And I have been standing here so long, I finally just sit down, in the dirt, slightly teary eyes, cause I know this is going to be a tough decision. I think I'll sleep here tonight.
Monday, June 7, 2010
June 7, 2010: A Not So Successful Blog in the Midst of Continuing this "Beautiful" Year.
My angst in creating this blog to tell of the story of my year came not too long after watching the movie Julie and Julia. When I watch movies, when I read books, when I engage in a TV show, or even hear a song, I am overcome with an urgency to change my life and make it theirs. Hence, the idea in my mind was that I would write, every day, for this year, of my journey to become beautiful in an unworldly sense. I would change lives, I would wow audiences, and I would, eventually, publish a book and make a movie of my ugly story. (I mean....pretty). However, the year is 2010 and blogs are far too popular to get noticed enough to make a book of it, and I'm more of an idea girl. I rarely finish projects or complete goals. Well, in the last 18...er...19 and a half years of my life, this was so. But I do not want that to be true anymore.
Another excuse for this is that in by writing everyday I would have to face the exhausting reality of my emotions and how I really feel about myself and express that to an audience of nobody. So instead I ran. Or literally, just stopped writing.
The reality that I have to face (pun) is that, after a quick and secretly depressing five, leaking to six, months, I have yet to feel anywhere near beautiful. I miss makeup. I miss dressing up. I miss the words, "You look cute today." I don't remember, really, when I heard them last, or received them. Nothing is hidden. Everything is revealed. On my face. And I do not like it. I used to hide beneath my think mascara and rose blush and the facade that I was high fashioned and low maintenance, not caring all that much how I looked. And the other reality is that, looks are most everything to me. I adore fashion. And I overwhelmingly wish I could be apart of it. But whenever I try, I am fooling myself. And I can't wear makeup. So the look is incomplete. And I am left, again, feeling ugly.
After nearly six months, I am terrified of the possibility that in another six months, nothing will have changed, and I will be called, again, to fast from makeup. That thought terrifies me. So that sort of says it all, doesn't it.
I've simply "gotten used to" not wearing makeup. But I haven't all accepted it. And I am tempted everyday.
I am going to write in this lonely little blog of mine. For the next six months. As long as I remember. Although, I honestly doubt this town ever even gets driven through. I'll write, regardless, feeding my creative soul, and being honest with myself about what I need to change.
Six months gone, six to come. We will indeed find out if the word Beautiful makes a lasting impression on my heart, or if I'm left, unhealed and broken by what I have to look at in the mirror.
Six months.
Another excuse for this is that in by writing everyday I would have to face the exhausting reality of my emotions and how I really feel about myself and express that to an audience of nobody. So instead I ran. Or literally, just stopped writing.
The reality that I have to face (pun) is that, after a quick and secretly depressing five, leaking to six, months, I have yet to feel anywhere near beautiful. I miss makeup. I miss dressing up. I miss the words, "You look cute today." I don't remember, really, when I heard them last, or received them. Nothing is hidden. Everything is revealed. On my face. And I do not like it. I used to hide beneath my think mascara and rose blush and the facade that I was high fashioned and low maintenance, not caring all that much how I looked. And the other reality is that, looks are most everything to me. I adore fashion. And I overwhelmingly wish I could be apart of it. But whenever I try, I am fooling myself. And I can't wear makeup. So the look is incomplete. And I am left, again, feeling ugly.
After nearly six months, I am terrified of the possibility that in another six months, nothing will have changed, and I will be called, again, to fast from makeup. That thought terrifies me. So that sort of says it all, doesn't it.
I've simply "gotten used to" not wearing makeup. But I haven't all accepted it. And I am tempted everyday.
I am going to write in this lonely little blog of mine. For the next six months. As long as I remember. Although, I honestly doubt this town ever even gets driven through. I'll write, regardless, feeding my creative soul, and being honest with myself about what I need to change.
Six months gone, six to come. We will indeed find out if the word Beautiful makes a lasting impression on my heart, or if I'm left, unhealed and broken by what I have to look at in the mirror.
Six months.
Friday, January 29, 2010
January 29th, 2010.
So, I've had a week to mull it over and I think I'm good. It's been almost a month now and the face I am seeing in the mirror is becoming friendlier and more familiar. I don't mind it so much. In fact, I've caught myself seeing makeup on other girls and thinking "They would be so much prettier without it." And now I finally understand my brother's true comments all this time. He's sincere, but I could never believe it. He didn't like it when my sister and I put make up on at all. He would ask us why we had to cover our face and we would just brush it off. But I sort of get it now. Not to mention is makes getting ready about a billion times easier than ever. I'm getting comfortable and sort of enjoying this. No more sadness with this fast. Nope. It's refreshing. Just thought I'd share.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
January 23, 2010
I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this........I really really hate this. I am ugly. I am bored. My hair is frizzy and my face is dull. I am tired of this feeling. I am tired of looking at myself and wanting to scream. I am tired of being short and more than average weight. I am tired of searching through a million different items of clothing and seeing a different kind of hideous in every single one of them. I'm tired of people seeing me like this. I am sick of seeing myself like this. I am bored. And annoyed. And the month isn't even over. And I have to suffer through 11 more. This is reality. It's honestly how I feel at this exact moment. And it's a reality for most everyone else in the world too, girl and boy. And it's sickening. How we have to look at ourselves and decide what's beautiful and what's ugly. Who decides these things? And it only makes sense that I am getting attacked like this on a day like today. Today, the ladies of Tempe are getting together and hang out and love Jesus just as we are. No make up. Simple clothing. And I am frantically still trying to look decent. Despite the fact that this is not what that is about. It's about being pure and raw in front of the camera. Letting Jesus be our beauty. And I forgot that. And I want to scream when I see myself. And I hate this feeling. This feeling. This feeling. I hate it.
In Jesus' name, I say, be gone, self hatred. Be GONE!
In Jesus' name, I say, be gone, self hatred. Be GONE!
Monday, January 11, 2010
January 11, 2010
I am failing huge in the blogging world. But even my journals go like this. Every other day entries and such. So let it be.
Yesterday, and the day before was nothing of significance, as far as beauty goes or this journey of mine. Actually, I have been in the same outfit all weekend. My comfortable purple pants and a sweatshirt barrowed from a roommate of mine. And I am quite comfortable, indeed. What I did realize yesterday, is how freeing this is. Which is what it is supposed to be. But I was actually able to splash water on my face in the church bathroom, just as I was getting ready to leave, and it was refreshing. I didn't have to worry about mascara smudges or anything of the sort. I can rub my eyes, freely.
And I was revealed one incredible and obvious truth.
Beauty, and all things beautiful, are not what we see. God, in all His glory, can make Himself into anything He desires, yet He is a Spirit, and He reveals Himself in ways unseen to the natural eye. What we think is beautiful, what we know as beauty, is not all we see. God is the most Beautiful thing ever - He encompasses all beauty and glory and honor, and He is unseen. He is the Spirit that lives inside of us, therefore our inside is beauty. Not our appearance and what the world has gotten lost on and thought to be beautiful. No, no. It is God. I don't think my words are doing justice. I know they're not. This thought is so 'wow' that I can hardly speak it. And it's hard to sum up the beauty of the most beautiful being that ever was, is, and is to come, in just a few simple human words. But I hope the point is at least there.
And this revelation came from the friend of mine I was in fear of. And he is loving me, as my brother, as a son of our Father, and not because I'm made up or look nice, but because I just am.
And I'm learning a lot. But slowly. And we're less than a half a month in out of 12 months. But this is what I have learned thusfar.
The Glory. The Beauty. Our Father. Mmm.
I'm gonna rest on that.
Yesterday, and the day before was nothing of significance, as far as beauty goes or this journey of mine. Actually, I have been in the same outfit all weekend. My comfortable purple pants and a sweatshirt barrowed from a roommate of mine. And I am quite comfortable, indeed. What I did realize yesterday, is how freeing this is. Which is what it is supposed to be. But I was actually able to splash water on my face in the church bathroom, just as I was getting ready to leave, and it was refreshing. I didn't have to worry about mascara smudges or anything of the sort. I can rub my eyes, freely.
And I was revealed one incredible and obvious truth.
Beauty, and all things beautiful, are not what we see. God, in all His glory, can make Himself into anything He desires, yet He is a Spirit, and He reveals Himself in ways unseen to the natural eye. What we think is beautiful, what we know as beauty, is not all we see. God is the most Beautiful thing ever - He encompasses all beauty and glory and honor, and He is unseen. He is the Spirit that lives inside of us, therefore our inside is beauty. Not our appearance and what the world has gotten lost on and thought to be beautiful. No, no. It is God. I don't think my words are doing justice. I know they're not. This thought is so 'wow' that I can hardly speak it. And it's hard to sum up the beauty of the most beautiful being that ever was, is, and is to come, in just a few simple human words. But I hope the point is at least there.
And this revelation came from the friend of mine I was in fear of. And he is loving me, as my brother, as a son of our Father, and not because I'm made up or look nice, but because I just am.
And I'm learning a lot. But slowly. And we're less than a half a month in out of 12 months. But this is what I have learned thusfar.
The Glory. The Beauty. Our Father. Mmm.
I'm gonna rest on that.
Friday, January 8, 2010
January 8th, 2010 (the rest of the day)
Today was a little bit more difficult. I washed my hair again with the Baking Soda shizz, and it failed. I know there is a process, of some sort, but I honestly couldn't take it. My hair looked like I hadn't washed it in YEARS. So, I justified. My mom bought me shampoo and conditioner around November that is still more than half way full. This is the plan. To use that until it runs out, and also let my hair grow out of the all the dye it has in it. That way, I am hoping, it will be easier to wash with natural crap. But for now, it's just productless, and makeupless.
On the topic of makeupless: I felt ugly today. Very ugly. I find that the more people I have talked to, girls, actually, about not wearing make up, it seems to be a bigger deal to me than they. "I hardly wear makeup anyways," some reply. And from the makeupless faces I've seen, they could go a year without it no problem. THEY are beautiful, naturally. But I, well, that I'm not so sure of. The skin around my eyes is darker than the rest of my face. There are scars, as I have mentioned before. And colors, uneven colors. Lines, dots, marks, whatever, that all long to be covered up. I desperately wanted to cover them up today and had a thought, "It's going to be like this ALL year. Eff."
One of my friends came over (this particular friend is in fact the friend that I try to look the greatest around, cause, like I, he appreciates style, and I care what he thinks. He's one of my favorite friends.) I was in sweats and a gigantic sweater. Normally, I could rock this look, but with my uncovered face, I felt as if I looked homeless, and I was embarrassed. Now, I know my friend most likely cared nothing about how I looked (at least 80% sure) and was just happy to hang out and see me, but I still cared. And I don't feel put together or beautiful. I feel sloppy and homeless and tragic. All because of a face. How unfortunate. And ridiculous. Of course it's not "true" how I feel about myself, but it is how I feel, and it's valid. And I'm desperate for just some cover up and blush. Shamefully.
That's how it is for now. I'm disgusted when I look in the mirror. But it'll only be a year. Hmph.
On the topic of makeupless: I felt ugly today. Very ugly. I find that the more people I have talked to, girls, actually, about not wearing make up, it seems to be a bigger deal to me than they. "I hardly wear makeup anyways," some reply. And from the makeupless faces I've seen, they could go a year without it no problem. THEY are beautiful, naturally. But I, well, that I'm not so sure of. The skin around my eyes is darker than the rest of my face. There are scars, as I have mentioned before. And colors, uneven colors. Lines, dots, marks, whatever, that all long to be covered up. I desperately wanted to cover them up today and had a thought, "It's going to be like this ALL year. Eff."
One of my friends came over (this particular friend is in fact the friend that I try to look the greatest around, cause, like I, he appreciates style, and I care what he thinks. He's one of my favorite friends.) I was in sweats and a gigantic sweater. Normally, I could rock this look, but with my uncovered face, I felt as if I looked homeless, and I was embarrassed. Now, I know my friend most likely cared nothing about how I looked (at least 80% sure) and was just happy to hang out and see me, but I still cared. And I don't feel put together or beautiful. I feel sloppy and homeless and tragic. All because of a face. How unfortunate. And ridiculous. Of course it's not "true" how I feel about myself, but it is how I feel, and it's valid. And I'm desperate for just some cover up and blush. Shamefully.
That's how it is for now. I'm disgusted when I look in the mirror. But it'll only be a year. Hmph.
January 8th, 2010
So, I had this dream last night that Miley Cyrus came to my old High School and performed with her dad, and there actually weren't that many people there. Later on in the dream I wanted to interview her for my school's newspaper and she aggressively refused. I say aggressive because I distinctly remember her pushing me away. Then she took a look at my face and said something to the extend of "You don't wear makeup?! You're hideous! Get away from me!" And I said something to the extent of "Are you kidding me? I'm going to write about this!" And I remember thinking, "How can she say something like that and claim to have Christ living inside of her." And I woke up with Party in the USA stuck in my head, walking into the bathroom, mumbling, "Miley Cyrus is a Bitch."
But she's not. I mean, I can't say she is. I haven't ACTUALLY met the girl. But the Miley in my dream was indeed a bitch. I honestly remember, in my dream, thinking to myself "I'm going to write about this on my blog! About meeting Miley and how she called me ugly because I wasn't wearing any makeup! This is perfect!" Then I woke up. But I still think it's blog worthy.
Something in my subconscious created that dream. Something about me thinks that something about Miley would be disgusted without Makeup, yet I know that's not true in reality. I've seen pictures of her without makeup. But we're talking about Dream Miley. (remember: Dream Miley - bitch, Real Miley - i have no idea). And it's so easy for me to call her that. Yet, I have Christ living inside of me. And I'm ashamed, now, of the part of me that is human and sinful and easily angered.
It was just a dream. But it did get me thinking. Not about anything really that profound or deep, just thinking. Re-thinking about the boys who commented on my nappy hair, thinking about celebrity life and how going a year without makeup would be impossible for them. So I'm thankful for this time in my life, cause it's perfect, and that's how God writes His stories, perfectly.
That's all for now. More observations and profound or not-so-profound thoughts to come.
Time for my second Baking Soda and Apple Cider Vinegar shower of the week. Let's hope my hair is starting to adjust.
But she's not. I mean, I can't say she is. I haven't ACTUALLY met the girl. But the Miley in my dream was indeed a bitch. I honestly remember, in my dream, thinking to myself "I'm going to write about this on my blog! About meeting Miley and how she called me ugly because I wasn't wearing any makeup! This is perfect!" Then I woke up. But I still think it's blog worthy.
Something in my subconscious created that dream. Something about me thinks that something about Miley would be disgusted without Makeup, yet I know that's not true in reality. I've seen pictures of her without makeup. But we're talking about Dream Miley. (remember: Dream Miley - bitch, Real Miley - i have no idea). And it's so easy for me to call her that. Yet, I have Christ living inside of me. And I'm ashamed, now, of the part of me that is human and sinful and easily angered.
It was just a dream. But it did get me thinking. Not about anything really that profound or deep, just thinking. Re-thinking about the boys who commented on my nappy hair, thinking about celebrity life and how going a year without makeup would be impossible for them. So I'm thankful for this time in my life, cause it's perfect, and that's how God writes His stories, perfectly.
That's all for now. More observations and profound or not-so-profound thoughts to come.
Time for my second Baking Soda and Apple Cider Vinegar shower of the week. Let's hope my hair is starting to adjust.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
January 6th, 2010
Today I woke up at my friend’s apartment, hair looking less than what I would call decent (it is taking time to get used to this Shampoo-Free lifestyle, therefore, it’s stiff, frizzy, and uncontrollable). I put on my slippers, grabbed my stuff, and walked back to my house. And as I did, I passed two teenage-ish boys I see often, standing outside their apartment, snickering. I walked passed, and they rudely pointed out how “nappy” my hair was to one another, but loud enough where they knew I could hear (who does that?!), and made some other comment that shouldn’t have been said as I opened the gate and shut it not-so-gently behind me. They laughed louder and made other pointless comments.
To my great delight, however, I shut the gate and tuned them out only to be greeted with a smile and a hug from a loving friend of my mine who unintentionally reassured me that my lack of physical beauty at that moment did not negate who I was and that I was loved.
I know this will be difficult, at times, because the world will get in the way. They’ll snicker and laugh and make rude comments about my appearance and make me feel insignificant and insecure. But this isn’t about what they think. In fact, it’s just the opposite. It’s to get over caring about what they think and settle in the truth of being comfortable in my own skin, my own makeupless skin and nappy shampooless hair.
I can live with their snickers and rude remarks, knowing that I will always be, just seconds later, greeted with a smile and hug in reassurance that I am loved. Whether it be from a real human being or the soft whisper from my Father in Heaven, I will know it. I will know it.
To my great delight, however, I shut the gate and tuned them out only to be greeted with a smile and a hug from a loving friend of my mine who unintentionally reassured me that my lack of physical beauty at that moment did not negate who I was and that I was loved.
I know this will be difficult, at times, because the world will get in the way. They’ll snicker and laugh and make rude comments about my appearance and make me feel insignificant and insecure. But this isn’t about what they think. In fact, it’s just the opposite. It’s to get over caring about what they think and settle in the truth of being comfortable in my own skin, my own makeupless skin and nappy shampooless hair.
I can live with their snickers and rude remarks, knowing that I will always be, just seconds later, greeted with a smile and hug in reassurance that I am loved. Whether it be from a real human being or the soft whisper from my Father in Heaven, I will know it. I will know it.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
January 5th, 2010
As I put on my jeans and tied my hair back into a sloppily beautiful bun of sorts, I was smacked right in the face with the bitter reality that this is actually happening. Why is it hitting me so hard five days in? Because of this: it’s the first day in the year I have gone out in public while the glorious sun was still shining. And I found out not too long ago, I finally get to go home! To my Tempe home, where my friends are, where my life lives. And thoughts came rushing through my head. I’m going home. I’m not going to wear makeup for one whole year. Not at my work place. Not at special events. Not even to see my best friends who I know admire my sense of style. This is actually happening. And I hesitated, with a faint image of my left hand grabbing some mascara to go as I ran out to the grocery store. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I made a promise to my self, and more importantly to God. I look at myself in the mirror with disgust. Scars and pigment of uneven shades, circles under my eyes, everything exposed, no more hiding. This is really happening.
I watched as my sister picked through my new and old blushes and shadows, the ones I so graciously told her she could have a couple days ago, obviously not understanding the emotional wreck I would be just a few days later. I watched as this happened. I watched as she picked up my green and pink tube of, yes, newly bought Blackest Black mascara and asked, “Is this new?” I replied without even looking. And I glance over to the mirror every now and then with a small hope of maybe I’ll look prettier this time. I don’t. I still have scars. I still have pigment in uneven shades, and of course, I still have circles under my eyes, which actually seem to look darker the more I look in the mirror. I’m being taunted by my own face.
But this is why I am doing this. I cannot get past the fact that my beauty comes from hiding, which it shouldn’t but that is what I believe. My beauty comes from these blushes and shadows and Blackest Black mascara and the way I do my hair and wear my clothes. This is how I think I am beautiful. This is how I think anyone else could think I am beautiful. I look at myself now and wonder Am i? Could I ever be? That’s what this year is about: figuring out if I actually can be beautiful without looking it (or what I think it means to be beautiful).
Five days down. Three hundred and sixty to go. Only time will tell. For now, I am still being taunted by my own face. I still look in the mirror with disgust, with a faint image of my left hand grabbing some mascara to go.
I watched as my sister picked through my new and old blushes and shadows, the ones I so graciously told her she could have a couple days ago, obviously not understanding the emotional wreck I would be just a few days later. I watched as this happened. I watched as she picked up my green and pink tube of, yes, newly bought Blackest Black mascara and asked, “Is this new?” I replied without even looking. And I glance over to the mirror every now and then with a small hope of maybe I’ll look prettier this time. I don’t. I still have scars. I still have pigment in uneven shades, and of course, I still have circles under my eyes, which actually seem to look darker the more I look in the mirror. I’m being taunted by my own face.
But this is why I am doing this. I cannot get past the fact that my beauty comes from hiding, which it shouldn’t but that is what I believe. My beauty comes from these blushes and shadows and Blackest Black mascara and the way I do my hair and wear my clothes. This is how I think I am beautiful. This is how I think anyone else could think I am beautiful. I look at myself now and wonder Am i? Could I ever be? That’s what this year is about: figuring out if I actually can be beautiful without looking it (or what I think it means to be beautiful).
Five days down. Three hundred and sixty to go. Only time will tell. For now, I am still being taunted by my own face. I still look in the mirror with disgust, with a faint image of my left hand grabbing some mascara to go.
January 4, 2010
Another lonely day inside. It’s hard to feel as though I am living a life without makeup and hair product when my actions don’t require those two things. I am doing nothing. I have yet to start my life up again. I am still in California, in my parents apartment, waiting until I can go back to Arizona. I shall update later with further insight when my life finds something to write about.
January 3, 2010: What the world says.
I don’t think I stepped out of the house once today. In fact, I know I didn’t. I’m still in my pajamas. And I have this sense of sadness, which can only often be caused by a lack of sun. I cannot wait to go back to Tempe and live life.
I did get some doing and thinking done all though most of the day was spent on the inside. I finished the second season of my favorite show, Pushing Daisies, and thought most about the eye shadow Chuck was wearing and how her hair looked different in every scene. It was beautiful. And I remember how much I loved putting on makeup simply for the art of it. In fact, all of that stuff I love doing is for the art of it. Hair, clothing, makeup, it’s all like art to me. It expresses some sort of creativity I wanted to let loose. It was an emotion I wanted to convey by showing the world how I looked. But that got lost. The creativity and simplicity in the art got trampled on by this overwhelming need to be accepted and adored. And that need came from watching television my whole life and what exactly these shows were saying. I know, I know. This is all stuff we have heard before, cliché stuff – but I’m finally noticing how true it is.
Instead of going outside today, I decided to watch some pointless television and what I chose was what I thought I could enjoy with my brother sitting next to me. Disney channel was our first option and Hannah Montana was on so we watched. Yuck. I have never said that before after watching an episode. Honestly. I used to enjoy that show. What stood out to me the most about not only this show, but other shows we watched as well (True Jackson and Zoey 101) wasn’t the poor acting and this-is-going-nowhere-storyline, but it was the subtle and blatantly obvious focus’ on the beauty of their faces and bodies and clothing and lack of powerful message. And this is what the kids are watching. Which is what scares me. What we learn at a younger age sticks with us longer than what we learn in high school and years after. It’s our subconscious and childlike spirit clinging to these new ideas. As we get older, our ideas are already set so it’s harder to replace them with new ones, even if the newer ones are truer ones.
I apologize if I offended anyone by saying these things about these shows. I don’t want to not like them. But I never understood before the pointless message that’s being sent around. Do your hair, date a boy (the cute boy of course), wear makeup, buy fancy clothes, and even as I’m typing this it sounds cliché-er than the biggest cliché, but there is a reason things become cliché – because they are truths. Honestly, these shows are pointless.
And it disturbs me so. But it’s in my mind as well. I can’t get out of the house unless I find the right outfit or make my face look less zombie-like, even if it’s just to go to the store. Which is silly.
All this is to say, well, why? And when? When will this change? If, ever? Even my mind is stuck on the things these shows tell me. And this year we’re going to figure out if that lie can finally convince itself what it is and, well, yes, change, into a truth, a truth of “You are Beautiful.” You ARE beautiful, not you LOOK beautiful.
I did get some doing and thinking done all though most of the day was spent on the inside. I finished the second season of my favorite show, Pushing Daisies, and thought most about the eye shadow Chuck was wearing and how her hair looked different in every scene. It was beautiful. And I remember how much I loved putting on makeup simply for the art of it. In fact, all of that stuff I love doing is for the art of it. Hair, clothing, makeup, it’s all like art to me. It expresses some sort of creativity I wanted to let loose. It was an emotion I wanted to convey by showing the world how I looked. But that got lost. The creativity and simplicity in the art got trampled on by this overwhelming need to be accepted and adored. And that need came from watching television my whole life and what exactly these shows were saying. I know, I know. This is all stuff we have heard before, cliché stuff – but I’m finally noticing how true it is.
Instead of going outside today, I decided to watch some pointless television and what I chose was what I thought I could enjoy with my brother sitting next to me. Disney channel was our first option and Hannah Montana was on so we watched. Yuck. I have never said that before after watching an episode. Honestly. I used to enjoy that show. What stood out to me the most about not only this show, but other shows we watched as well (True Jackson and Zoey 101) wasn’t the poor acting and this-is-going-nowhere-storyline, but it was the subtle and blatantly obvious focus’ on the beauty of their faces and bodies and clothing and lack of powerful message. And this is what the kids are watching. Which is what scares me. What we learn at a younger age sticks with us longer than what we learn in high school and years after. It’s our subconscious and childlike spirit clinging to these new ideas. As we get older, our ideas are already set so it’s harder to replace them with new ones, even if the newer ones are truer ones.
I apologize if I offended anyone by saying these things about these shows. I don’t want to not like them. But I never understood before the pointless message that’s being sent around. Do your hair, date a boy (the cute boy of course), wear makeup, buy fancy clothes, and even as I’m typing this it sounds cliché-er than the biggest cliché, but there is a reason things become cliché – because they are truths. Honestly, these shows are pointless.
And it disturbs me so. But it’s in my mind as well. I can’t get out of the house unless I find the right outfit or make my face look less zombie-like, even if it’s just to go to the store. Which is silly.
All this is to say, well, why? And when? When will this change? If, ever? Even my mind is stuck on the things these shows tell me. And this year we’re going to figure out if that lie can finally convince itself what it is and, well, yes, change, into a truth, a truth of “You are Beautiful.” You ARE beautiful, not you LOOK beautiful.
January 2, 2010: No more lies.
I look in the mirror and wonder if I will ever be able to look at myself and honestly say the reflection is beautiful. The circles under my eyes are what get me the most. I’m constantly tired, and that shows.
It is a little nice though to be able to scratch my face and rub my cheeks without having to worry if the part where I scratched and rubbed smudged a bit. And as much as I don’t want to, I still put forth countless moments coming up with some sort of highly fashioned yet perfectly comfortable outfit for whatever it is I will be doing just moments later. Today it was lunch with my brother. And it certainly should not have taken as long as it did for me to get ready. But its only day two, and I’m learning.
I look in the mirror too often and I notice it more now that my face is just the simple face it has always been underneath all the blush and eye shadow. I secretly liked looking at myself in the mirror when I had makeup on, and now that I do not, I grimace in the sight of my own reflection. There are scars and marks and circles, as I mentioned before, that I used to cover up and now that I can’t cover them up they are out in the open, which is sort of like untold secrets. Makeup made me feel safe, or at least safer than I was without it. It made me feel confident, which it often does to those who wear it, and it made me believe it was the only thing that would get people to like me. Which all makes sense in why my God, my creator, my beautiful Father in Heaven is calling me to do this. He doesn’t want me to hide. He wants me to smile. Smile, with confidence, with the teeth he so delicately made for me, and smile with the boldness that my beauty shines within my soul.
And I just have to keep reminding myself that that is what this is for. The truth. The truth is what this is for; not the lies I have led myself to believe. God’s truth and beauty lives inside of us and shines outside of us, and the world can’t tell us what is and what isn’t beautiful.
I really wanted this to be as far away from a “find the beauty within you” cheesy self help guide as possible but that is what it is sounding like. I don’t want it to be that simply because more people stay away from cheesy and laugh at self help. This is reality. The truth is, is that I don’t find myself beautiful at all and I am not the only person in the world who feels the same way. I’m not sure what it is like to feel beautiful and these thoughts of mine sadden God. Just as if something I created came to life and was ashamed of how it was made. I would feel hurt and saddened. And those are two things I do not want God to feel. So I am learning, with His help only. The world cannot help me. The only thing the world has helped me do thus far is subtly forcing myself to believe the lie that my worth comes from my clothing, charm, and painted face. And that lie will have power over me no more, not this year.
It is a little nice though to be able to scratch my face and rub my cheeks without having to worry if the part where I scratched and rubbed smudged a bit. And as much as I don’t want to, I still put forth countless moments coming up with some sort of highly fashioned yet perfectly comfortable outfit for whatever it is I will be doing just moments later. Today it was lunch with my brother. And it certainly should not have taken as long as it did for me to get ready. But its only day two, and I’m learning.
I look in the mirror too often and I notice it more now that my face is just the simple face it has always been underneath all the blush and eye shadow. I secretly liked looking at myself in the mirror when I had makeup on, and now that I do not, I grimace in the sight of my own reflection. There are scars and marks and circles, as I mentioned before, that I used to cover up and now that I can’t cover them up they are out in the open, which is sort of like untold secrets. Makeup made me feel safe, or at least safer than I was without it. It made me feel confident, which it often does to those who wear it, and it made me believe it was the only thing that would get people to like me. Which all makes sense in why my God, my creator, my beautiful Father in Heaven is calling me to do this. He doesn’t want me to hide. He wants me to smile. Smile, with confidence, with the teeth he so delicately made for me, and smile with the boldness that my beauty shines within my soul.
And I just have to keep reminding myself that that is what this is for. The truth. The truth is what this is for; not the lies I have led myself to believe. God’s truth and beauty lives inside of us and shines outside of us, and the world can’t tell us what is and what isn’t beautiful.
I really wanted this to be as far away from a “find the beauty within you” cheesy self help guide as possible but that is what it is sounding like. I don’t want it to be that simply because more people stay away from cheesy and laugh at self help. This is reality. The truth is, is that I don’t find myself beautiful at all and I am not the only person in the world who feels the same way. I’m not sure what it is like to feel beautiful and these thoughts of mine sadden God. Just as if something I created came to life and was ashamed of how it was made. I would feel hurt and saddened. And those are two things I do not want God to feel. So I am learning, with His help only. The world cannot help me. The only thing the world has helped me do thus far is subtly forcing myself to believe the lie that my worth comes from my clothing, charm, and painted face. And that lie will have power over me no more, not this year.
January 1, 2010: So it begins.
I cheated, only slightly. As the countdown began and the New Year ran past me, I may have still been wearing mascara. But I did begin this New Year the way I truly want to spend not only my entire 2010, but my entire life: praising God.
The reason I am doing this is not for myself (only slightly) and not for the world (although, if it encourages a few hearts along the way, I won’t complain). This is solely and completely entirely for my Father in Heaven. And I told Him that. And He knows it.
I’ve felt this calling on my heart for sometime now to sell the clothes I hold on to so tightly, the ones that I believe make me, me, a more, if only slightly, beautiful me. It was a whisper that I ignored. My heart was not prepared in that moment I first heard it. I was still in high school, seeking the approval of my peers and the award for Best Dressed (which I came second in). And if you asked me if that satisfied, I would without hesitation tell you that it did not. I look back now and, to be cliché, laugh. Why did I want those people to like me? They were nothing more than faces that I would soon forget. They weren’t encouraging or loving in a way that I truly desired. But that’s over now and done with and I did what I did and as much as I shouldn’t have, I don’t regret it. God knows the story He has written. I am playing my part perfectly.
And the timing now, is perfect. Life, in all its glory, is still nothing close to what I want. Life and my desire for it is poor. It’s better than it was, but it’s poor. What I want is Jesus. What I want is to know my God – to know His heart. And to accept this love He so generously offers me. And along with that, I have to accept this life. And that is what this is for.
The beautiful me, the one I believed, came from makeup, braids, and my colorful, trendy clothing and days without those three simple things were days I could cry if I looked in a mirror. The scars on my face, the circles under my eyes, the frizz from my hair and the way my body looked in clothes that were actually comfortable made me want to throw up. I wasn’t beautiful. I could never believe it. And even the times I was put together, I still wasn’t sure.
So this is the first day, of three hundred and sixty five, that I am not wearing make up. And this is my promise, my vow, to abstain from those things I thought made me beautiful and end up in a place where I honestly believe my real beauty comes from the person that God made me and the Spirit He gave me. Because I know it; I’m just not sure how well I believe it.
* * * *
I woke up this morning, exhausted from the beautiful New Years party I got to spend with seven-hundred-something-people who all have a heart for Jesus and sharing His love. We danced until midnight and worshiped through the New Year. My hair was dirty and my face was pale and as I walked past my box of makeup I could almost hear it sigh in realization that we would no longer be friends. I looked in the mirror in a new way than I had before. Instead of bitterness, there was peace. I sure as heck wasn’t confident, and it will be a long time until I am, but I was okay. God prepared my heart for what He wanted me to do. And I am eager to see what the rest of this year holds. I am eager to play my part the way God has written it, and see all the plot twists and character dynamics and happy endings He has created. Day One. Here we go.
The reason I am doing this is not for myself (only slightly) and not for the world (although, if it encourages a few hearts along the way, I won’t complain). This is solely and completely entirely for my Father in Heaven. And I told Him that. And He knows it.
I’ve felt this calling on my heart for sometime now to sell the clothes I hold on to so tightly, the ones that I believe make me, me, a more, if only slightly, beautiful me. It was a whisper that I ignored. My heart was not prepared in that moment I first heard it. I was still in high school, seeking the approval of my peers and the award for Best Dressed (which I came second in). And if you asked me if that satisfied, I would without hesitation tell you that it did not. I look back now and, to be cliché, laugh. Why did I want those people to like me? They were nothing more than faces that I would soon forget. They weren’t encouraging or loving in a way that I truly desired. But that’s over now and done with and I did what I did and as much as I shouldn’t have, I don’t regret it. God knows the story He has written. I am playing my part perfectly.
And the timing now, is perfect. Life, in all its glory, is still nothing close to what I want. Life and my desire for it is poor. It’s better than it was, but it’s poor. What I want is Jesus. What I want is to know my God – to know His heart. And to accept this love He so generously offers me. And along with that, I have to accept this life. And that is what this is for.
The beautiful me, the one I believed, came from makeup, braids, and my colorful, trendy clothing and days without those three simple things were days I could cry if I looked in a mirror. The scars on my face, the circles under my eyes, the frizz from my hair and the way my body looked in clothes that were actually comfortable made me want to throw up. I wasn’t beautiful. I could never believe it. And even the times I was put together, I still wasn’t sure.
So this is the first day, of three hundred and sixty five, that I am not wearing make up. And this is my promise, my vow, to abstain from those things I thought made me beautiful and end up in a place where I honestly believe my real beauty comes from the person that God made me and the Spirit He gave me. Because I know it; I’m just not sure how well I believe it.
* * * *
I woke up this morning, exhausted from the beautiful New Years party I got to spend with seven-hundred-something-people who all have a heart for Jesus and sharing His love. We danced until midnight and worshiped through the New Year. My hair was dirty and my face was pale and as I walked past my box of makeup I could almost hear it sigh in realization that we would no longer be friends. I looked in the mirror in a new way than I had before. Instead of bitterness, there was peace. I sure as heck wasn’t confident, and it will be a long time until I am, but I was okay. God prepared my heart for what He wanted me to do. And I am eager to see what the rest of this year holds. I am eager to play my part the way God has written it, and see all the plot twists and character dynamics and happy endings He has created. Day One. Here we go.
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