Every week I read PostSecret, and it's kind of like a guilty pleasure. Some of the postcards make me blush, some make me sad. Tonight as I was navigating to blogger to write about who knows what, I checked out the weekly Sunday Secrets. Living on the West Coast, I can read them on Saturday nights if I wish. Every week I hesitate a bit, wondering if reading PostSecret is God-pleasing, simply because of the subject matter of some things. But every week I click on the link and scroll through them anyway. Tonight was the first time in a couple years of reading that I saw one that hit so close to home it made me tear up.
I'm 22 years old, and I still suffer from pretty serious acne. I've tried almost everything there is to fix it, and things will work temporarily but then something happens and my skin reverts back to "normal." What's worse is that I have sensitive skin, so I can't use benzoyl peroxide-based products, which are typically the most effective. Somehow, in the midst of all my numerous other insecurities, my acne hasn't been a terribly huge burden. The great thing about being a girl is that the usage of makeup is expected by society, so I have an easy way to cover my imperfections. Yet in the last couple weeks I've been getting frustrated and just sick of it. Why hasn't my body grown out of this, like everyone else's seems to? Today as I was applying my makeup, I was noticing it didn't cover as much as I thought it did, or as much as I wished.
In light of my recent trials, imperfect skin is fairly minor. But it has hit me a little bit harder recently. I giggled to my mom the other day about flirting with a cute boy, and she was surprised at my reaction: "Don't you realize how pretty you are?" Maybe she is my mom and has to say that, but my confidence in my appearance has never been strong, and it ties directly to my acne and my weight (if only I could be about 10 pounds lighter, or even just more evenly distributed...). And, if I'm being completely honest with myself, it has been several months since I've had someone tell me I look beautiful. When I consider my already wavering confidence, and the fact that someone I thought was interested in me turned out not to be, I was struggling a bit tonight. And then I read PostSecret.
I read this and started tearing up, both out of shame and encouragement. First, it hurt because I want so badly to have someone say this to me again. Then I imagined that someone wrote this to me, even though I know that's not the case. But either way it reminded me that even though I don't have perfect skin, there are people out there who may think I'm pretty. Someday, once again, a boy will look past my acne-scarred exterior and will love me for what's on the inside, and see that that's what makes me beautiful.
Until that day, God, give me patience. And help me to remember that you created me just as I am, acne and all. Help me to know that your love is all I need, and help me to be content in that.
PS Guy whose ATM card I returned at the Bank of America in Totem Lake: Thanks for thinking me that I'm amazing over such a simple thing. You made my day.
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