I thought that if I could stand on a stage in a swim suit and heels knowing that I was literally being judged, I could do anything.
In the world of beauty I am enigmatic- wholly incapable of being categorized or defined. I am too short and too “heavy” to be an elite or runway model; too full-figured to be considered “petite”; not full-figured enough to be “plus-size”; too muscular to do well in traditional modeling or beauty pageants, and yet, not muscular enough for fitness magazines and/or competitions. So where exactly does that leave me and countless other women like me? Because we are not able to be defined does that automatically mean we are not beautiful, or even worse, that we are “ugly” by default?
According to various different statistics, the average American woman today is about 5’4” tall and weighs approximately 145#, yet, the average model is 5’10” and weighs just 125# (statistically representing about 2% of the entire worlds population). So why is it that we are continually sold an ideal that most of us can never aspire to (and clothes that the vast majority of us will never fit in to, let alone even remotely look good in?). We have been routinely convinced that we must re-invent or make over ourselves in order to be beautiful, rather than re-defining beauty itself.
I remember precisely when I began hating my own body at just eight years old- when I perceived that I was shorter and “thicker” than other girls my age. This lead to body dysmorphic disorder, anorexia and athletica bulimia. I thought I was so ugly as to be quite literally deformed. I wallowed in self-loathing and questioned why God would create someone so ugly. I let my thoughts and feelings about my looks define everything about me, including me right, or lack there of, to have fun, to be social, to go to dances, to enjoy close friendships, or to date nice boys who would treat me with dignity and respect. I knew I would never be popular, become a cheerleader, or amount to anything other than mediocrity. My greatest aspiration was to just be “average” and not ugly any more.
And then a funny thing happened one day on my quest to be average. I entered a beauty pageant of all things, something I never even remotely felt entitled to do before. It was my own brand of shock therapy and something I did to help me overcome social anxiety and my inability to perform oral reports in college. I thought that if I could stand on a stage in a swim suit and heels knowing that I was literally being judged, I could do anything. I fully expected to come in dead last, yet to my surprise, I placed 18th out of 38. This was my first wake-up call that I wasn’t completely unfortunately looking.
