Captivating

Share your beauty.

My love thinks I’m beautiful. I wish I knew how to convey how phenomenal that is, that he thinks so and tells me so often. He tells me so, all the time, at all states of disheveled bumming at home, to polished and ready for work.

What makes this so phenomenal is that I had always hoped I was. I believe parts of me are very beautiful, but that’s not an adjective I’d use to describe myself. He says it like he’s trying to tell me its Tuesday on Tuesday. That I just am. As I am.

My reluctance to understand that he can see my beauty is not some silly fishing for a compliment thing. This block stems from years of hurt and a misunderstanding of what “beauty” was, before I re-wired this brain o’ mine.

Makeup and straight hair was beauty. Tanned skin (fake-bake induced to avoid tan lines), an underwire, and form fitting clothes were what made me “beautiful.” (This seems so foreign now, and I am so very grateful.) Picking clothes to fit my body type, and flatter certain features and pretend that other physical faults didn’t exist despite the miles I was running was painful. White teeth even though bleach strips hurt like crazy were “necessary.”

All of that is sheer nonsense. Granted, I still wear makeup and fuss with my hair, but that is not what makes me beautiful. My intent with those things is actually just enough grooming so that people don’t ask me if I’m sick or tired at work… ladies, I’m sure you can relate.

What makes me beautiful is my soul. Beyonce’s “Pretty Hurts” song talks about the soul needing surgery. Plastic surgery, bleach for hair or teeth, spanx, etc, none of that will make you beautiful. Beauty is not skin deep, folks.

For example, you see an image of a beatiful woman and decide she is so in a flash. Now, instead of seeing an image of her, you walk into a room with her sitting there. She does’t pay you any mind, just as with the picture. But you immediately start to evaluate her based on her actions, her demeanor and condience, her voice if she speaks, how empathetic or self-aware she is, etc. Beauty practically falls away as all of her other attributes are evaluated.

But where this gets really interesting is what happens if you decide you’re going to speak to her. Suddenly, her beauty percolates right back up to the top of the list. She could have just said the most brilliant thing you’ve ever heard. But what do you say when you begin to speak to her? Tell her how beautiful she is? That she has a wonderful smile? That you love her shirt and saw something just like it at Michael Kors last week (or actually on their website becase who really has cash and time to shop at malls any more)?

But what if, when she spoke, she sounded like the biggest jerk in the world? Would you still smile when you talk to her? Do you give her beautiful self the benefit of the doubt, and try again?

Our collective concept of beauty is warped. There are more intepretations of beauty than there are people in the world. Remember that “beautiful” shirt you bought last year, but that you have only worn it once? Or how you can feel “beautiful” until you grace a reflective surface with your presense for a moment, and the reflection immediately nullifies that feeling as you notice your hair is a rats’ nest (guilty!)?

I once hurt my love because I didn’t recognize my beauty and snapped a ridiculous photo of us. He was kissing my cheek and said to take a photo to send to my mom. Absolutely adorable, right? Until I flipped the camera view and saw my glasses crooked and messy bun as way-too-messy-of-a-bun to ever be photo worthy. I thought the photo was as cute as I could have been, but he saw a face in that photo that wasn’t my genuine smile. Because it wasn’t. I was reacting to me, as I looked, not us, in love, and me spoiled by his kiss. It was my light-hearted attempt to laugh at myself looking like a complete goof with my insanely attractive love kissing my cheek. But he saw my silly face, and understandably thought it was my reaction to him. Nope. It was my inability to see myself as anything other than “a mess.”

Blah, blah, blah, you’re love loves you and thinks you’re beautiful, we got it, right? Wrong! I’ll (finally) get to my point on this. I read Captivating by John and Stacy Eldridge and was so very, very excited to have a book make sense of me. I wanted to be a beautiful woman, to share my unique beauty as worthy of admiration. Unfortunately, I had to learn from my love, and now on my own, that I really was beautiful, and that I’ve been sharing this part of who I am, every day, and that had nothing to do with anyone else’s admiration.

Yes, he really is this amazing. Always. I’m the luckiest lady in the universe.

All of this is to say that you are beautiful. Man, woman, or child, you are beautiful. Allow me to repeat this very important point. You are beautiful! Look at you! I see you smiling with a shine that lights up the room!

How you express yourself in your words and actions expresses the beauty of your soul on orders of magnitude more than mascara will make your eyelashes “beautiful.”

We need to take a collective step back and consider if what we’re collectively promoting as “beautiful,” is actually what we mean when we say that word. We don’t tell a new mother her newborn son is beautfiul because of his fresh haircut. We tell her that he is beautiful because of what we see in the innocence and peace of the little lad, the radiance of the smile he brings his mother, and how joyful we are for the family celebrating this new little one.

Who did you call beautiful today? Did you mean it? What did you mean by “beautiful?”