I don’t know when it all started, maybe when I tried to get into the group of those beautiful girls. I was the only girl child of the family and I was always pampered. As a kid they never let anyone hurt me even a bit. They loved me like hell. I never faced the issues which normally a girl child faces in our country. My parents loved me more than my brothers, and my elder brother loved me more than anything.
I was a brilliant kid and was up brought by my whole family. They always made me know about consequences, but never let me face them alone. They always had my back. I was told, “I am a beautiful creation of god and I never felt that one day I am going to do this to me.”
So it all started in my high-school, a teenager who was happy with her life. It was during the few first days of my new school that I came in contact with the so called “beautiful girls”.
They told me how bad a body I have; they told me why it’s a big fault of mine that I am not curvy. Why it was all me behind my weird hands and why I should not wear heels because I have weird feet. They started telling me how to makeover, and I who were beautiful till today was in front of mirror cursing my belly, cursing god for not giving the perfect figures. In my life first time I was doing so because now I was a grown up kid and I should not share everything with my mother because we are not same age, that’s what I had learnt from them.
I was learning things from them and applying them too. I was no more available at my home in the evenings. I was going to some gym for which my father was angry with me because he was thinking I am getting it all wrong, being obsessive about figures is totally wrong.
Finally after lots of changes I was in that group where I was never feeling me, the most I can eat out was some boiled vegetables. I lost myself in “beautiful me”. They laughed over me. They made me feel ashamed about my own body and I was wrong in feeling so. I was ashamed of myself. From a debater, I became an introvert. I fought with my mother for not taking care for my ugly body and thank god I fought because if on that day I didn’t fight with her I don’t think I would have ever got to know how beautiful I am.
As I yelled, “You have never taken care of my body. It’s weird, now I am ashamed of it because of you.” She turned to me and said, “What did you say, you are ashamed of your body, this body. Tell me what you’re ashamed of?”
I told her what I was feeling about myself. She turned my face to the mirror and said, “Open your hands, see how pretty they are, long and beautiful. You remember in childhood you were strongest with your grips over things because if your hands weren’t there you wouldn’t have been the winner of that tennis match. Your feet! You are ashamed of it, which are working whole day for you even when you are cursing them for not being beautiful. And your curves, my baby everyone has a body type. You have your own, it’s different and special. And yes, perhaps I didn’t care for your body because I was always proud of it, never ashamed.
She left the room, I was looking at myself and all of a sudden nothing bad or weird was there, all what remained there was beautiful me, my beautiful hand and my beautiful feet. Hell yeah, I am beautiful, where was I for months? I am no more “beautiful girl”. I am a self dependent beauty with brain, and yes my mother has taken care of my brain and body.
I am a champion in my family, and among my friends. And yes I know I am beautiful.
Note: The image used in this post is only for representational purpose.
