So beautifully written. May you live up to the fact that YOU ARE A MASTERPIECE. Have a wonderful weekend ahead. :)
I hate it when you tell me that you don’t think you’re beautiful.“But I’ve gained a lot of weight.” “And there’s a constellation on my face.” “The eye bags make me look old.” “I don’t know how but I think I’ve let myself go.”Stop for a minute.Turn to that critical voice in your head and tell it stick its harsh opinions where the sun don’t shine. Because those labels become chains that keep you trapped in the dark. And, deep down, you know better. Deep down, there’s a window in your soul that seeks to believe that you were meant for more. That you were meant for wide open spaces where the light always lingers . Keep that window open for one minute longer.Because that feeling at the pit of your stomach that you can’t seem to shake off, that killer instinct, that flickering hope — they’re all true.How different would your life be if you actually believed the voice that you’ve been trying to resist all along? The one that says: “You are a miracle. Proceed accordingly.” Whether you choose to silence it, fear it, run from it or ignore it, you can’t stop me from standing on this metaphorical mountain, screaming the truth from every conceivable peak:YOU ARE A MASTERPIECE.Take those eyes, for example. Those eyes that you say are too squinty, too big, too small, too far apart; too black, too dull, too droopy, too weak, too odd.However they look, they’ve watched a thousand sunrises. They’ve seen couples kiss at weddings. Those eyes have beheld incredible goodness, witnessed the amazing triumphs of the human spirit, caught glimpses of beauty at its most unencumbered. Those eyes have cried every time it felt the jagged edges of the world pierce your heart. Have cried over death and loss and betrayal but also, joy, surprise and gratitude. Those eyes have marveled. Have seen everyday wonders like the sunshine peeking through after days of dark rain clouds. Those eyes have seen colors that no palette could ever physically translate and those eyes will see things in this lifetime that might even put the word ‘miracle’ to shame.Or your body. The body you constantly lambast for being ugly. Ugly because it doesn’t match the standard the world’s held up against you. Ugly because it curves in the wrong places, is too wide, too narrow, too short, too tall — when are you going to realize that you can’t have it all? You can’t and you don’t need to. Because that body was never meant to fit into someone’s small, simplistic notions. That body was made to tell stories. Was made for movements and revolutions, made with the capacity to say so much without saying anything at all. Your body is your vehicle for adventure, your translator for when love desperately needs to be felt. And however it’s packaged, whatever quirks it comes with, it is fully equipped to do what it was always made to do: to tell the story of you as beautifully as possible. If you let it.And that face. I love that face because it is the permanent residence of your beautiful smile. Your smile that tells me the world’s going to be okay when everything around has fallen to pieces. Tells me as I stand on the opposite side of the room: Hey, you belong. Tells me we agree, we get each other, we understand, we forgive, we’re okay. Tells me I am loved even when I don’t exactly feel like it.I love that face because it is the home of a billion expressions, each one contributing to your specific you-ness. The way you scrunch your eye brows or stick out your tongue or cross your eyes when you want to catch my attention. The way you flare your nostrils in disbelief or crease your mouth into flat lines when you’re upset. The way your eyes take on a hollow look when you don’t want to be where you are anymore. That face of yours is my manual for everything that you feel. It’s written in code but I know it so well because I have never studied harder for anything else in my life.And we could go through your entire anatomy but still arrive at the same conclusion by the end of it. Now is the time to keep those windows wide open, to see yourself in a light that’s never harsh, to use love as a mirror wherever you go.Because I hate it when you tell me that you don’t think you’re beautiful.So I will make it my duty to stand on metaphorical mountains and paint the walls with truth. To keep reminding you that you are, you are until we finally start seeing the same person in the same uncanny light.