You are BEAUTYfull.
YOU Grow into Your Self.
While at the doctor's office last Friday, the nurse escorted me to the scale. This used to cause severe heart palpitations even full on panic attacks with burning hot flashes but I have had a huge shift in perception over the years . I no longer measure my worth by the number on the scale or use it as a weapon of shame against myself. It is simply information.
When she measured my height, she kindly commented that I was "nice and tall" and shared how she had always wanted to be tall. I told her about my mom being petite (5' 2") like her and how I always felt like an amazon next to her, wishing I was small. And then, one day, I liked being tall. Adding: I guess YOU GROW INTO YOUR SELF.
As I spoke those words, the vibration was one of pure delight in the clarity, fully understanding my journey, the process of life that had organically led me to this place. Miraculous! Over the years, I had come to see the beauty of what is, integrating the pieces of me I had rejected through the power of acceptance. There is nothing more beautiful than growing into your Self.
Always remember: YOU are BEAUTYfull exactly as you are! And as you accept this, you will grow into your Self, your highest expression of Self: mind, body, heart and soul.
Below is an excerpt from my book Passing On Hope from the chapter: Tender Moments. It is a story of misperception, living out an old belief that gripped me and the healing possible when we are open and present to the moments of our life so the TRUTH can rise.
☼ ☼ ☼
Aunt Judy, who is
Mom’s youngest sister, gave her a few photos that she had taken of me when I was five years old. Mom was in one of the shots with me that captured our matching profiles, bangs cutting our long foreheads in half, full eyebrows sculpted above our eyes, narrow noses with a long slope, plump bottom lips, and rounded chins that arched into our necks. We were wearing chocolate sleeveless mock turtlenecks that Mom had sewn for us. Mine had a label, “Homemade for my special little girl, Kathy,” just like clothes from Sears or L.S. Ayres, only better.
That picture was the first time that I had ever seen a resemblance between
Mom and me. Mom, petite at 5 feet 2 inches and always weighing roughly 100 pounds, appeared to be my opposite since I have been 5 feet, 7 inches since seventh grade and have weighed far more than 100 pounds most of my life. As I handed Mom the photo, I remarked how much I looked like her. She let out a sigh of delight as she viewed the photo closely, saying, “You sure were a pretty lil’ thing.”
I instinctively burst into tears hearing those words that I craved as a child. As I caught my breath, I apologized for my outburst, telling her with my crying voice that I never knew she thought I was pretty. Trying to decide if I wanted to tell her more of the truth, I paused to regain my composure and then told her that I never felt pretty as a child, seeing myself as dirty and ugly. This ended our conversation, as she stiffened up with her uneasiness, and I was afraid of hurting her with my perceptions of the past. There was no benefit to dredging up what was no longer true. Knowing that she thought I was pretty mended whatever part of me had hung onto the belief all of these years that I was ugly and dirty.
A month later, on Christmas, we watched 35-mm reels of home movies. We laughed hysterically as we revisited our past as a family—Christmases, graduations, weddings, Easters, trips to Santa Claus Land, football games, parties. Margee, Maureen, and I, also known as “the three little girls,” modeled our Easter dresses that
Mom had made especially for us. There I was all of three years old—whole, perfect, and beautiful with my whitewashed curly blond hair and my bright yellow dress. There was nothing dirty or ugly about this little girl. She was so confident that she did a turn to show the back of the dress and decided to lift it so everyone could see her matching ruffled panties. I scooped up this memory of that little girl and placed her in my heart and soul, where she now permanently resides.