The case of beauty & acceptance

The inner monologue started innocently around the time I became a teenager. I was waiting for my breasts to fully develop and by the time I reached high school maturity, I realized they would never look like those perfectly round, pointy and voluminous breasts I saw on teenage magazines that featured actors and rock starlets.

I didn’t know at the time about the power of Photoshop, post-processing an image and flawless make-up, good angles, good lighting and other countless tricks media deploys every time you open a magazine.

I didn’t obsess over it but as the years went by, the monologue grew louder; it told me of other things I found “imperfect” about my body but I lived under the impression that it was only a matter of time until I could pull of some magical “fix”.

I’m standing here, now, as an adult approaching 30’s and I’ve had one very painful discussion with myself regarding this inner rant that’s been going by inside for so long.

Things set in motion the moment I realized it was no longer an issue to “fix” whatever flaw I perceived about my body that was out of my working abilities to manage.

So I drew the conclusion I needed bigger breasts and a straight nose. A smaller nose and a bigger bust. Because that would make me more beautiful than I already am.

I’m not trying to bash on anybody who may opt for cosmetic enhancements, I am merely describing my own thought process and the conclusions I reached.

After the first visit to the doctor’s office, I was hooked. I drove back home thinking “wow, I’m so excited!”.

But as days went by, I started researching the issue more. I started reading on potential health risks more. I thought about what kind of message I’m offering myself, not just what kind of message I’ll be offering to the world around me.

I am, by no means, a puritan.

I’m doing my fare share of risky things; bodybuilding alone has a plethora of injury-related risks or hormonal imbalance issues that can arise at any moment throughout my career.

Yet, there was this nagging feeling that accepting to go with surgery would mean I would stop accepting myself.

3 days later, coming back from therapy, I was once again sure about my decision to go for improving my appearance.

“Everybody else is doing it” was one of my rationales to opt “for”. Also, “it’s perfectly safe”, “I will look prettier”, “clothes would fit differently” were another array of pro-surgery arguments.

But the nagging feeling would come back and it would make me cry out of the blue. In a final attempt to find peace within my decision, I sat down and went to a deep place, where I knew I would find myself, the 15 years old self, wondering around on a summer field, playing with her feet in the hot dust. I approached her and I allowed her to see me, really see me.

And she was amazed by what I’ve accomplished, whom I’ve become. I started crying but I didn’t leave the place. We started talking and I asked her all these things….if she ever imagined we would go so far, if she ever thought it would be possible to become so powerful and anchored.

She said no, she only had dreams as a means to escape reality. But she never thought she’d be able to make them true.

I asked her “do we need it? a boob and a nose enhancement?”

She looked at me, almost sad, and said “not anymore….we used to. I need it, you don’t, not anymore.”

Her voice brings a burst of cry and I can’t help knowing that she is right.

I used to need every trick up my sleeve to see myself as beautiful. I used to have a tough time looking in the mirror and see someone feminine, sensual, pretty, sweet, powerful, balanced. I used to think I needed to fix so many things on myself, physically.

But now I see, I am beautiful. Accepting (at least for now) to go for surgery would mean defeat against all the mental work I’ve put into my adult life. It would mean I subside to what everybody else wants. It would mean I am willing to change myself, not for my own ideals, but for other people’s ideals.

The temptation to be drawn towards “more beautiful” will always be there. It’s a continuous struggle to remain conscious about who you are and what exactly defines you.

Accepting my physical appearance as a nature-given gift instead of an imperfect outcome is liberating. Like a breath of fresh air.

And the best part is….if there’s going to be a time I doubt my decision, I can always choose another. Freedom is an inside job, just as happiness is.