Our world revolves around competition, around being the absolute best. The most beautiful. Some men have made us believe that we are rated and defined on a scale from 1 to 10: am I a 3 or a 10? What are you? What’s your number?
When I go out to a bar or a party, do guys come up to me? Do they look at me like I’m the prettiest girl in the room? Or do they swarm to your side, waiting to even get a glance from you? What happens to me when you are the one being validated? I’m wondering why I’m here looking for someone to tell me I even look half as beautiful as you.
I look at you wishing I had your thighs, your breasts, your butt, your hair, your eyes. What if I had all of those things? And all the while not knowing that you look at me the same way. We both wish we could cut and paste our bodies like a dream board to feel happy and complete.
We tear ourselves down looking into a mirror already stained and faded by opinions and ideals. These lies that’ve been shoved down our throats since we had bows placed in our hair. We look in the mirror and ridicule our scars and dimples and those things that make us, us. We do this without a second thought. We think, “what if I lost/gained those last five pounds” so I could be perfect?
But one day, what if I decided to find things I liked about my body, my mind, my soul, and accepted those things I couldn’t change? What if those flaws became the pinnacle of my confidence? It would be even better if you did the same. If we could look at each other across the room and acknowledge that our beauty in every facet of our beings were not mutually exclusive, monumental things could happen.
We are more than our bodies. We are more than our DNA. We are more than our IQ. We are more than the opinions of outsiders. We are not what we’ve been told we have to be. We are not “hotter/smarter/better than” one another. The world is hard enough to stand on our own two feet steadily. It is the time to band together, appreciate that no two women are the same, and truly love each other.
Your beautiful is not my beautiful. And mine is not yours.