You Don’t Owe ‘Pretty’ to Anyone

[I havent havent blogged in a minute. Writing is kind of like working out; the longer I wait to write, the longer it takes to get back in the habit. I wrote two posts today. This one is mostly just a buffer for a more intense heavy one for Sunday so enjoy!]

I walked passed a group of fine men today.

I’m attracted by very particular things and it doesn’t happen often. Things that attract me don’t always make sense. An example: “I’m drawn to that quirky lisp thing you do whenever you say that word” or “you have crazy eyes and I’m intrigued by how balanced and put together you are pretending to be”

Doesn’t make sense, I know.

So I’m walking towards this table of gentlemen. This attraction was purely superficial. No substance whatsoever.

I had to quickly decide which character I want to play. Will I do the ‘eye gaze maybe want to attract a look thing’ or ‘fuck it because in all honest I don’t really care’. Both of those reactions are very honest representations of how I was actually feeling in that moment.

I went with fuck it.

I really didn’t care. (Wow at self!)

It reminded me of yesterday when someone said to me: “You know, you don’t have wear all that makeup”. It caught me off guard because in my mind I had already decided that he was the type of guy who likes women who wear a lot of makeup.

I spend about ten to twelve minutes putting on makeup most days of the week. I don’t it for a guy or anything. I do it because I want to look pretty.

Pretty?

Who told me that’s what pretty looks like? Do I feel pretty when I have it on?

I do feel pretty but I mostly feel covered in paste and I leave lipstick marks on everything.

You wanna know when I actually do feel pretty?

I feel pretty after I cry because I’ve just released energy that was weighing me down. I feel pretty when I look into another person’s eyes because I feel for a second that I’m part of something larger than me. I feel pretty when I open myself up to hold space for another human being because it that moment I am a soft space to land in a very prickly world. I feel pretty when I share love with my friends and family. I feel pretty when I give my last to someone who I know will appreciate it more than I will. I feel the most pretty when I light up my ugly so that it reflects someone else pretty to them.

Back to the handsome fellas.

I used to be one of those girls who will become exactly what you wanted me to be in return for your validation. I needed to have it and I was willing to do whatever you wanted to have it.

That just gave me chills.

I walked past them and placed my order. I stood and waited for my coffee. I didn’t know if they looked or not and I didn’t care. I stood there in full presence of my being. I admired myself. I was standing there alone. I wasn’t on my phone. I wasn’t fidgeting. I wasn’t looking around to see who was looking. My brain was not telling me to “pull my stomach in” or to “look busy” or “did I look ok?”  I just stood.

I got my coffee. I walked outside.

You know what’s really exhausting? Trying to impress anyone. You don’t owe anyone anything. You especially don’t owe them ‘pretty’.

I smiled and I took one giant step towards myself.

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