Beauty is a word which can conjure a clean and definitive image in our mind every time we hear it. Whether it’s a Victoria’s Secret model strutting down the catwalk, or a bunch of freshly cut long stemmed roses… beauty is a word which can mean many things, to many people.
I’ve had a love hate relationship with ‘beauty’ my entire life and today I wanted to share my continuing journey with what ‘beauty’ means to me, and hopefully hear your thoughts too.
From the age of around 9 years, there was only really one image in my mind of what a beautiful woman looked like. She was a young sophisticated woman, tall, slim, with long blonde hair and a beautiful face. You could say the epitome of beauty in my childish eyes equaled a cross between a real life barbie doll, and the woman I was reluctantly about to welcome into my family as a ‘step-mother’.
As I grew older, my sense of what ‘beauty’ meant to me changed. I had an accident as a 10 year old child which led to me having my forehead scar, which meant that I would no longer fit into my own ideals of what a beautiful woman looked like, or would grow up to look like. Thus meaning, I’d have to work extra hard to become ‘beautiful’.
As a preteen and teenager, I rebelled against the rules of society and along with that, the rules of ‘beauty’. I was what you’d call misunderstood, and looking back, in bad need of reassurance, therapy and to be quite honest – likely just a hug from my parents.
Fast forward a few years and after cutting my long thick brown hair into a jaw length bob, plastering my eyelids in eyeliner and dressing head to toe in black, I did my best to fight against the very essence of my beauty ideology. I skateboarded, sang in a hardcore punk band and thew a few moves in a ‘mosh pit’ which in itself is a slightly beautiful rebellion in a sort of cliche poetic way.
However, it was pretty much the internet which dragged my sorry sullen ass out of beauty black hole, and helped me become confident in my skin. Continue reading