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Thursday, 20 March 2014

Beauty

Happy Daisy

I had what I guess you could call an epiphany recently, in the girls toilets at university - the nice ones on the first floor that hardly anyone seems to use - I was standing at the sinks looking into the mirror and I realised that I am beautiful. I was wearing one of those loose T shirts that ties up at the bottom so you can see a bit of your stomach and jeans from Marks and Sparks that might have at one point belonged to my mother. The point I'm trying to make here is that I didn't look particularly flashy and I hadn't spent a lot of time or money on my outfit. It was as if a switch had been flicked, all of a sudden all the years of self doubt and self depreciation, of worrying about my skin - I had terrible acne as a teenager, my weight, my thighs, my hair being too frizzy or too greasy and sometimes managing to be both at the same time, my skin being too oily and my nose being too big, didn't matter anymore.

I'm definitely not perfect - I've yet to meet anyone who is, but I don't want to be bigger or smaller or more or less of anything anymore. I want to my shirts tied up at the bottom so my stomach's on show. I don't care that it's not the flattest stomach, it makes me feel good and I like it. My waist is one of my favourite features and if I want to show it off, I will.

While this may not be a particularly exciting revelation for anyone else, I feel it's an important one. Someone I care about pointed out a photograph of me a few weeks ago - I'm not wearing any make up and my hair is blowing about in the wind - and they said it was the most beautiful photograph of me they'd ever seen. I think it was that comment that started this thought process and I'm very grateful for that. I feel as I've been set free.
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