|
Recognizing True Beauty: A Nude Self-Portrait
Beauty is not something that you see with your eyes Dear One, So how do you know if what you are looking at, if what you are seeing is truly beautiful, or if it is simply an illusion, a judgment, a product of your own or someone else’s imagination? Close your eyes. If it disappears, then you know. -The Soul’s Agenda THEN: I was 5’4 and a half. I had stringy dry brown frizzy hair that drearily hung well below my waist because it had not been cut in more than 3 years. My face was round like a pancake, my eyes were bloodshot, sunken deep into my head, and surrounded by a deep purple circumference that was so pronounced it looked as if it had been painted on. I had two baseball sized lumps sitting on my neck, one perched gently on each shoulder, and a third very large soft mound protruding from the back that the Dr.’s so loving called my buffalo hump. My breasts were full and sagging, one much lower than the other because it had painfully torn itself away from its place on my ribcage one day and now hung disjoined from its twin, displaying a deep purple scar showing me the path of its decent. My fair complexion was covered in lesions, my arms were thick as ham hocks, my waist was non-existent as my whole body was now simply round, extending out spherically from head to toe. I was so large that I could only shop in the plus department and my favorite pair of faded blue sweatpants was a size 3x. And when I looked in the mirror, I cried. I had grown from a wispy 110 lbs. to a robust 290 lbs. very painfully over the course of three years, and then lost it all again rather gently over the course of one. It was one of the most unexpected and profound journeys of my life. But when my trip was over, when the journey was complete, when the illness had run its course and I had learned all that I needed to learn from it, and the thin me once again emerged, the more conventionally beautiful version of myself once again made an appearance, I looked in the mirror and saw nothing beautiful in the reflection staring back at me. What I saw was extra folds of skin hanging softly and cumbersomely around my waist, under my arms, between my thighs, and dangling freely from beneath my chin. I saw my fair complexion marked forever by the footprints of the lesions that once raged across my face and back. From head to toe I believed myself to more closely resemble a zebra than a woman, as I was now covered in stripes masquerading as scars where my skin violently and painfully stretched to accommodate the extra 180 lbs that, without invitation, visited my small frame. How could this be, I asked? How was it possible that after this great transformation, after this profound healing I had experienced, that I could still not see beauty in this now healthy, pain free body that I had the great pleasure of inhabiting? And this is the answer that I received; “It is because you are looking with your eyes and not with your heart. Close them, look again, and tell us what you see.” So I did. What I saw now was myself surrounded by amazingly bright, wise, fun, intelligent, persistent, clever friends who loved me, supported me, laughed with me, challenged me, and accepted me fully, exactly as I was. I saw words that inspired me, stories that I had read and some that I had written, that made me laugh, cry, grow, strive for more, and feel, deeply. I saw a heart that had been broken, mended, broken and mended again, and again. I saw the remnants of a string of experiences that had strengthened me, inspired me, touched me, motivated me, and taught me just how strong, useful, creative, resilient, and powerful I could be. I saw connections reaching out in all directions to so many people, places, and things. I saw a life filled with stories that had carried me to this point in time. And I saw time itself, outstretched ahead of me endlessly like a blank canvas waiting for color, like a fallow field waiting to be seeded, fertile with possibilities. I saw a space waiting to be filled, experiences waiting to be discovered, and stories waiting to be told. I saw people not yet met, foods not yet tasted, tears not yet shed, jokes not yet told, laughter that was just waiting to tickle me from head to toe, causing my eyes to glisten with tears, and my ears to ring. And I saw a joy that was so great, that was so much bigger, and so much brighter than anything I had ever seen before, bubble up from within me. I saw it pour out from me into the world in all directions, washing over many people as it did and serving as a catalyst, showing them, reminding them how to open up this tap within themselves. And when I opened my eyes again, all that I could see was beautiful. NOW: I am 5’4 and a half. I have soft, warm brown naturally curly hair that flows freely halfway down my back. I have hazel eyes, and a fair complexion, well shaped eyebrows, a long neck, toned arms, small breasts, and a thin waist that slopes out gently to my hips creating a lovely hourglass silhouette when looking from behind. My frame is small so I shop in the petite department and my favorite pair of perfectly worn old jeans is a size 0 and fits like a glove. And when I look in the mirror, I smile. Alex Alcott is a freelance writer living in NY who runs two successful creative shops and who honestly believes that with heart, anyone can do anything. With questions or reactions email alexalcott001@gmail.com
|
||||||||||||||