The mirror. I could blame it on the mirror. Or my hair. Perhaps blame it on my skin, the rough dry patches and the ashyness. I am pretty certain none of that has anything to do with it.
There are days I don’t feel beautiful. I don’t like the woman infront of the mirror. It’s sits in the eyes when I feel less beautiful. I could say ugly but I won’t. Those days of no beauty weighs heavily on me. I look at people less, I stare at my phone more and nothing works. I wonder if there is anything different I could do.
Even make up refuses me on those days. Sometimes it feels like my tears would just flow without any provocation. It’s not that I don’t love myself enough. It’s the season. The season where beauty leaves me. The season when my soul feels empty and sometimes I am conscious of myself, my skin colour, the shape of my teeth, my nose and sometimes it’s all in my eyes.
My eyes. I don’t know why my eyes tell me I am not beautiful enough. I don’t know why sometimes they tell me I am beautiful enough. It’s on those days, I can’t understand compliments. Not because they aren’t true but because I can’t feel them. They are just words. Words with no meaning.
I know that season. It’s the season to shed. I know it well because that’s the season I focus less on my outward self and speak more to myself. I say things I wouldn’t say otherwise. Sometimes, I just shrug and wonder why I feel as I do. I talk to myself just because my voice might still be beautiful and could reason with me. I promised to do my eyebrows today. I feel good when they look good. I didn’t do them. It felt so meaningless. So unnecessary.
Of those days I don’t feel beautiful, I have decided to honor them. I have decided to quit hiding from my eyes. I have decided to listen to my soul. Of those days I don’t feel beautiful, I have cried. I cry because it feels so good to let it out . I have decided to feel the not so beautiful days. I have decided to do nothing about those days. I have toyed with the idea of looking less in the mirror. Sometimes I have recalled when this dude said my lips get thin when I laugh, or when this other one said fifteen years ago that my face is too long. I remember those men because they had told me in secret about thier own insecurities. About what it felt like to be short and bald as a man. I know this is not about them. Or what they said about me. But I still remember their words on those days I feel less beautiful. It doesn’t hurt. I relive my lips and smile and see my thick upper lip get thin. I wonder why that would be so strange enough to tell someone. Some of these memories come back on those days I don’t feel beautiful. They just linger in the air. Maybe they have an impact on my less beautiful days. Maybe I am still insecure about myself. And my upper lip. I don’t know.
The season of no beauty just like any other season is to be acknowledged and allowed to manifest. I honor my body as it is. I accept it as it is. I try to find the treasures hidden in my eyes. During the season of not being beautiful, I just live. Until it’s the season to bloom again. And look in the mirror again.
Maybe I am learning to love myself differently even when the world says I shouldn’t. Or even when the mirror conspires against me.