The Process of Pretty
Friday, July 12, 2019
I've always considered myself reasonably attractive. I'm no supermodel, but I don't usually hate what I see when I look in the mirror.
But I wanted to feel beautiful. That was my motivation when I started working on being more fit and healthy. I want to feel beautiful.
I started making some changes in my life. I started trying to be more positive. I've been trying to be nicer to people. I've been working to interact and support the people I care about more. After all, beauty is not only skin deep. Being beautiful, to me, means both inside and outside.
I started eating healthier and making a point to exercise. Ideally, this will mean losing some, uh, excess baggage that menopause has bestowed upon me. It also means a lower A1C so my doctor will get off my case about "pre-diabetes". It will hopefully mean that not only will I not hate what I see in the mirror, but I will look at that reflection and say, "Yeah. I'd do me."
So far, I'm not super excited about the numbers on the scale. I don't see any appreciable difference in my body yet. No one has looked at and said, "Damn, you look good -- have you lost weight?" That doesn't matter all that much, though, because while those things would be nice, I remind myself of what motivated me: I want to feel beautiful.
In taking on this new attitude, in doing the things that may lead to my looking better and being more healthy, something happened to me.
I realized that most days? I feel beautiful.
I have connected with a group of women who are amazing and supportive and are really just amazing friends. I feel kindly towards them, and I honestly WANT to interact positively with them and support them and accept their support of me. We share beauty tips. We cheer each other on in our attempts to be better people with healthy minds and bodies. Whether they realize it or not, they've shown me my beauty.
I've also bought a few things -- tools, one might say, to get the job done. I've bought pretty pink sneakers for my walks and cute mauve yoga pants. I have a couple of sports bras that fit me in a way that isn't all "uni-boob and back fat." I'm still going to wear a t-shirt over those because the world at large doesn't need to see what's hanging out of those things, and I don't need the glaring reminder of it, but as I rub the sleep out of my eyes and throw my hair up in a sloppy ponytail in the morning, don those workout clothes and head out for a long walk? I feel pretty.
This whole process of wanting to feel beautiful -- the PROCESS, not the result -- has been a result in and of itself.
I'm treating myself as though I'm pretty, as though I deserve to be treated as though I'm pretty, and through that? I'm feeling pretty.
I stand taller. I feel like I walk more gracefully. I'm more at peace with myself. All of this is not because I've lost weight or had plastic surgery to make me look like a supermodel; it's because I've started doing things that made me feel, well, worth it.
Because I am beautiful.