Not something I would use to describe myself. Ever. I could go into the reasons, but we are not going to get into all of that.

This past weekend I caught Aden staring at me so I asked him why he was staring.

His response: “Because you’re beautiful momma.”

When I hear words such as these it is hard to not dismiss them.

You see no one but family has ever said I was pretty or beautiful. As usual it is hard to believe those closest to you as you feel they just tell you what you want to hear.

Who does not want to be told they are beautiful.

The only times I have ever really and truly felt beautiful, there are 2:

  1. When I got married.

2. The time I had a professional photo shoot done in a rockabilly style.

(I have other pictures around the house from this photo shoot – but this is my favorite.)

Both included dressing up and makeup and getting my hair done, etc.

I desperately want to believe my son in all his innocence see me as such. But when you have gone so long barely looking in the mirror or trying desperately to look past the image you see – it is hard. I can not retrain my thought process in an instance. In a moment. In a day. In a month. In a year. Something so ingrained is hard to chip away at to re-work. To re-evaluate. To see what others might see. We all tend to have blinders on in certain instances of our everyday life.

My self-confidence or lack there of is so ingrained into me.

Where it came from – who knows. Maybe my own pre-conceived notions. Maybe seeing others who look like they could be models (maybe they are). Maybe seeing that I was not the one asked out on dates except for a few times. Most likely I will never know. Maybe seeing that my one and only boyfriend happened in college and I married him. (Thanks for picking me babe.) Maybe it was my shyness – my extreme shyness. Maybe it was looks. Maybe – maybe – who knows. Not like we go up to others and ask why or what.

Maybe it is seeing the worlds concept of pretty and beautiful. What others see as these adjectives. These descriptions.

TV. Movies. Music.

A world we see from the outside knowing we will never match up to the worlds concept.

Sometimes I feel that maybe for me it goes beyond looks – what I accomplish in my lifetime. Maybe I am not meant to be known as beautiful – but to do something more. I have yet to figure that out, I can only hope I do figure it out and while I try I will still feel the urge to roll my eyes and dismiss those in my life who might call me pretty or beautiful. Even my own child. Believing they are liars. Maybe one day I can get to the point of at least saying “Thank you” upon receipt of a compliment. Even if I don’t necessarily believe their words.

No guarantees.

No promises.

I am who I am.

I am Marisa.

I am 36.

I am married.

I am a mother.

I am a crafter.

I am a writer.

I am a little crazy.

I am shy.

I am me.

I love my family.

I love reading.

I love writing.

I love brownies.

I love Italian food.

I love Mexican food.

I love the color blue.

I love to play games.

I love going on vacations.

I want to get back into exercising.

I want to have a book or two or more published.

I want my husband to continue the climb at work because I know he can do it.

I want my boys to feel that they can accomplish anything they put their minds too.

I want so much out of life.

I want to…

Well I want a lot and I can work at some but some may remain aloof for a while.

Beautiful.

Not a word you think of when you see me but maybe my beauty is inside. In my heart. In my actions. In my love for my family. In my love for others. In my love of wanting to do for others. In my love for writing. In my love of reading. In my love…

Maybe I am hopeful. Maybe I am being wishful. Maybe I am kidding myself. Maybe there is no beauty in me – outside or inside. Maybe I am dreaming.

All I can do is continue on as me. I know me. I know what I do. One step, one day – at a time. In the end, I can only be me.

 

Admission – my words, my thoughts, my feelings – I share to make others think, make others feel, to know parts of me – not to seem as if I may be asking compliments.

Thank you,

Marisa

Photo by Sam Operchuck on Unsplash

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