Imperfection Is Beautiful

admin — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 05:04:14 +0000

Author: Maria Pascuccibr
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Several years ago, I sat on the sidelines and watched other women light up rooms. They werent stunning in the way that women are supposed to be, but they had this beauty about them that I just couldnt pinpoint. All I knew was that I was lacking in it. It was body confidence, I later found out — a confidence I embrace today, knowing full well how long it took me to find.
When I was 13 years old, something as minor as a pimple could leave me moping for hours. I wore heavy makeup to conceal my acne — so much so that I could spend an hour in the bathroom before school to make sure every blotch on my face was hidden. Friends at school called me zit face to be cruel; I tried to ignore them, but I knew it was true. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a pale comparison of the girl I used to be.
That year, our school took a three-day field trip to Washington D.C., where we stayed at a hotel with a swimming pool. I wasnt embarrassed to be seen in a swimsuit, but I always wore a t-shirt to hide the acne that scattered my arms and back. As my right foot skimmed the cool water, the lifeguard yelled, Sorry, its against hotel policy to wear t-shirts in the pool. I watched my friends splash around, confident with their flawless skin and knew I could never expose myself. I faked a stomachache and bolted for the privacy of my hotel bathroom. Outraged, I peeled off my t-shirt to unmask scabbed, irritated skin. I cursed the imperfect reflection in the bathroom mirror. I screamed, I HATE you! Youre SO ugly!
By the time I turned 15, the acne had vanished thanks to medication. Eventually, the scars faded to the background. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a face that was pretty again, but a body that was all wrong. I discovered in a dressing room that at 130 pounds, I was too fat for my 52 body.
Im hideous! I moaned to my mother, creaking the dressing room door open so she could see my fat thighs in the sparkly black mini. Sigh.
No youre not, she reassured, smiling sadly. She suggested that exercise might make me feel better.
I bought exercise videos and gave up ice cream and chocolate, those sinful foods women arent supposed to eat. In the high school cafeteria, I ate dry turkey subs (the cafeteria didnt offer low-fat mayo packets), skim milk, and cups of pineapples. My taller and thinner girlfriend enjoyed chocolate milk, fries, and Doritos. She also went to bed at night with her makeup on and never saw a pimple in her life. Talk about fairness.
By age 20, I maintained a stable weight of 120 pounds and accepted my short legs. I then obsessed about my too-small chest! At a small 34B, I felt my body would be better if only my breasts were larger like women on magazine covers and on television. Id never been a sucker for gimmicks, never chanted, I must, I must, I must increase my bust while squeezing my pecks but an obsession had taken hold.
I bought padded bras, gel-filled inserts, and pills promising to increase bust-size (they didnt). I contemplated breast augmentation. Small breasts signified something was missing — a scaled down version of femininity, I was sure.
Then in college, I devoured books about Americas obsessive quest for physical beauty and how impossible standards hurt women and girls. Something as insignificant as a mirror holds the power to control our self-image. A piece of glass can determine how we feel about ourselves. I had enough. FINALLY.
I stood before my bedroom mirror, stripped of clothing, exposed to myself. I studied my body slowly, trying to see beyond the pain and insecurity to find what remained — just me.
I saw my fathers deep brown eyes, my mothers thick brown hair, and full lips that reveal a fantastic smile when Im happy enough to show it off. I saw thin, shapely arms sprinkled with nineteen beauty marks, a flat stomach, and small breasts proportional to my body. I turned around. Sure, my behind was a teensy bit bigger than I would have liked, but it certainly wasnt anything to be ashamed of. My legs were short, but I liked how toned they looked. They were petite and curvy. At that moment, I finally just saw me. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I accepted myself as a beautifully flawed woman.
When I was a teenager, one of my best friends had a beautiful dancers body. She flaunted long graceful legs, small hips, and a flat bottom — everything I had always wanted. Imagine my surprise when she confided that she was jealous of me!
Are you SERIOUS? I gasped, inspecting myself in her dresser mirror. Youre tall and can eat anything you want and never gain a pound. Your legs are so thin.
But youre curvy, she responded. Guys look at you. A single tear glided down her left cheek as she pulled her long legs close to her chest. She grabbed her favorite teddy bear from her bed and ran her fingers through its soft white fur, careful to avert my gaze. I didnt have the courage to tell her the truth, so I let the silence hang between us until she changed the subject. We eventually drifted apart.
I should have told her, Imagine how amazing we both could feel if we saw in ourselves what others have seen all along. My younger self never did, and my older self wishes I would have.
At age 27, I find loving my body means accepting that it will NEVER be perfect. No matter how much I work out, I accept that my behind will never look flawless, like bronzed goddesses on television. Ill never look like a supermodel, but I dont care. Im real and when I brush past a mirror, Im finally comfortable with everything I see. Thankfully, my surrendered battle with the mirror empowers me to focus on more important aspects of my life ?
Like realizing my dreams.
Special Requirements for Reprint: Please include Marias full name, website and resource box with live hyperlinks. Email a copy of the published article to maria@campuscalm.com.
Maria Pascucci is the President of Campus Calm (www.campuscalm.com).
She helps high school college students achieve balance, reduce stress, increase self-confidence and gain perspective in our hectic, achievement obsessed world. Free reports for students, parents and educators available with subscription to Campus Calm Connections. Maria lives in Buffalo, New York with her graphic designer husband, Shaun, who shares the homepage of their personal writing/design website (www.creativetypeco.com). Contact her at maria@campuscalm.com.br
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The Pros And Cons Of The Acne Medication & Treatme » body confidence

Imperfection Is Beautiful