cynosure

But that’s so hard to do, with the things you put me through.

Feel this Way by Consequence feat. John Legend

Don’t you feel like that sometimes, about yourself? You desperately want to love yourself, but sometimes what you put yourself through, like holding onto guilt or resentment, not taking care of yourself, being too self-critical– makes it harder.

“Loving myself is all I want to do.”
That’s all you need to do, anyway (love yourself, that is), to be happy– everything else will fall into place eventually.

Now tell that to yourself. Aloud or not. Ten (that’s 10!) times. Every morning. Every hour and minute you need to be reminded: “Loving myself is all I want to do.”

But how do you love yourself, or even learn to love yourself? I know it’s not as easy as just someone telling you to love yourself, but for now, if you believe (with all of your being) in the statement: “I love myself”, you’re already one step forward.

And don’t be afraid to be yourself. Being yourself is one more (HUGE) step towards loving yourself– and that expression of yourself, in its stubbornness to refuse to simply become whatever anyone else tells you to become, is revolutionary in its own right. (Ever wonder why that particular combination of letters comprises “rvxn”.org? But that’s an explanation for another day…)

NEVER be afraid to sing your own song, no matter how ridiculous it sounds. (Blue sky in the sun? It doesn’t even make sense! But I love it anyway because he’s so unafraid to express himself.)

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I didn’t write this post for… me.

It was for you, to show you that every damn inch of you deserves love from yourself, even if “society”, the media, your co-worker or friend or parent or sibling or cousin or even partner tells you otherwise. Don’t believe them.

This post is all about you.

So, tell me:

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I came upon this event, Tell Her She’s Beautiful, the other day, and while I support what it stands for (though, what about the boys? what about telling him he’s beautiful?) handing people statements– empty statements, in fact, to many of the people who hear them– just might not do much.

Telling someone that you perceive he is beautiful does not mean he will believe he is beautiful. In fact, there are a lot of people who think it’s stupid or even damaging– especially if hearing “you’re beautiful” from a stranger or even a friend might even anger or hurt someone who hates herself.

You are beautiful, but obviously my telling you has absolutely no meaning unless you believe it yourself.

The point isn’t to throw around empty statements or even I love yous. The point is to affirm your own worth yourself.

You are beautiful.

But of course, you already knew that. You don’t need me or anyone else to tell you.

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Hi.

I’m me.

I’m 5′ 5″, or 165 centimeters. I was, and still am, too short to model, though once upon a time I actually had such a desire. (Nowadays I’m on the other side of the camera, capturing the beauty of others instead.)

I haven’t weighed myself since summer 2007. I don’t even remember how much I weighed back then. Frankly, I don’t care.

I used to cut off the size labels on most of the clothing I wear, but I still remember them. One of my strapless dresses is size large. And a year after I got it and cut off the tag, I really don’t care at all. It’s a versatile dress and the straplessness suits my shoulders well.

I have short legs and wide hips. I love my hips. I am bottom-heavy.

I have stretchmarks and cellulite on my thighs and hips. I have stretchmarks on my arms, and my arms are soft and padded. My cellulite is proof that I am woman; I would never want to hide it. I am soft all over; My softness is my womanhood.

I have deep creases in my stomach where my tummy divides into rolls.

I have broad, broad shoulders.

I never shave… anything. My armpits only recently started growing thick, curly hair. My legs have been hairy for years. They’re also covered with scars from mosquito bites.

I have a dent in my jaw from a fall last summer. I have a pimple scar between my eyes. I have an overbite.

I never wear makeup. I wore more makeup when I was 10, trying too hard to grow up, than I do now.

I went to eat dumplings over the summer, and my parents’ friend asked if I liked to eat them frequently. The answer was yes; and her response was “No wonder she’s so fat.” I shrugged it off and laughed and didn’t care at all, and kept on eating those delicious dumplings.

This is me.

I know I am beautiful, and I love myself.

This is me. The cellulite on my thighs, the stretchmarks on my hips.

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Now tell me: What do YOU love about yourself?

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