On being beautiful

Yesterday a particularly lovely friend and I spent a long while discussing self-care, skin care, and society's standards for women. I spent years coating my face with bleach, peels that burnt my flawed skin off, facials and creams and who knows what else. I'd do anything for good skin. Now my hands are so full they're forced away from the old scars. And I couldn't care less.

I look at my husband, and I look at our child, and I think back now and then to the times I was told I could never have this sort of love because of the marks on my skin and the size of my hips. And I hope some insecure teenager looks at my face and thinks: if she can have it, so can I. When I told her this, she said: "Aww, you're beautiful."

That's always been my reaction to her. Although we commiserate often over our skin woes, I rarely see the spots. I look at her, and I see nothing but beauty, nothing but warmth and intelligence.

Beauty, they say, is in the eye of the beholder. And perhaps this is the secret to it: Surround yourself with those who see you as such, scars and all. Seek to see the loveliness in others, no matter their size. What better way to remain beautiful, inside and out?