Breaking Beauty

Posted: April 22, 2012 in birthday, celebration, Empowerment, family, love, reconnection
Tags: , , , , , , ,

So I’m sitting in a hotel room, having just been at my great-aunt’s surprise bday. Still in my dress. Thankfully shoeless (I started the night off in heels. Decided it was ridiculous to have sore, burning feet, and promptly switched to my baby blue Vibrams. Looked uber sexy with the little black dress πŸ™‚

I think I fretted over seeing family for nothing. Yes, there was surprise that I was there. But I tend to forget just how awesome my family is, having isolated myself for so long. I end up wondering if I had just forced myself to remain in that bubble, would all the shit that’s happened to me still have happened? Probably yes.

So, from the hotel room comment, you can deduce I am in another city. While here, I’m planning on shopping. I was all pumped to buy new clothes this morning. Didn’t end up happening. I got pissed and returned to my room. It started with the grey sky and cool temperature, and ended with a saleslady giving me that haughty “what are you doing here?” look. And I realized that the effort I’d have to make of actually putting on clothes to try was way too much.

The night before I drove here, I was helping my mother pick clothes to bring. I tried giving her a pep talk. That beauty is a social construct that changes with the times at society’s whims. And fuck what other people think (referring to her exposing her arms).

I thought about that since. Beauty. And what it means. There is a post I did a while back where I commented about how my ability to see beauty in anyone is not a good thing. I fully take that back. Because I do see beauty in everyone. But I don’t want to fuck them. Which was what I was confused about before. Appreciation does not equal lust.


Beauty. I went to the party this evening with my arms and legs exposed. Gasp! Not only are my arms not toned, but they are scarred too. My arms obviously scarred. I wore my septum piercing too. This was not for a reaction. This was to be authentic to myself. Because I am comfortable as I am. And… well, fuck everyone else.

I ended up leaving early. Mostly because my feet were killing me in my gorgeous heels. I ended up sitting on the bed, wanting to go back again. I like being around others. It’s nice to realize I can carry a conversation and make small talk and smile and mean it. I don’t think I give myself enough credit at times (okay, all the time).

So as soon as I had tossed my heels, I get a call. My parents and aunts and uncles escaped the party also. And invited me to go grab a burger with them. The drive there and back was entertaining and enlightening and sad. The conversation was loud, outspoken, tactless, and truthful.

The burger was awesome. We snuck back into the party just in time for dessert. But by then the excitement had kinda died down.

It’s weird. I had to live a double life for a long time. And in a way, it’s like I am again. But I guess that applies to most people. You see the face the other person presents. Tonight, I tried to merge the various sides of myself. I did that with the exposure of my scars, my septum, my lack of makeup (mascara and lipstick don’t count when everyone else pancakes it on), showing my half-finished tattoo that’s on my leg (a coverup. It used to be a girl blowing her brains out. It’s now a water/lotus flower/rock scene). I survived. That’s what it shows. The fact I refused to wrap my body up just because I’m not acceptably thin. Looking in the mirror I could finally see that I have lost weight. And I felt awesome. And confident. And beautiful. And comfortable.

So. Theme song for this post:Β

Cause this song makes me super happy whenever I hear it. And it’s safe to turn up the volume πŸ™‚


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