A rant on love and self worth.

The other day, I asked a friend if she thought that I was pretty. It may have come across vain but I genuinely felt like I needed an honest, objective opinion. I’ve been wondering about it a lot lately.

So many people tell me that I’m nice and sweet and caring and one of their closest friends. And I’m appreciative. I really am. But I’m also sick of hanging around in the friend zone.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not desperate. In fact, the reason I’m alone is probably because of how picky I am. Last year, someone came into my life that wanted to be the last person I spoke to at night and the first person I spoke to in the morning. A person who wanted to watch movies with me and cuddle and go to the museum and have sleep overs. This person kept telling me how sexy I was and how they wanted me. But I couldn’t bring myself to want this person in the same way. Subsequently things ended.

Anyway, my point is…maybe I’m where I am not because of others but because of my self. Maybe my issues aren’t a result of society perceiving bigger girls as ‘less than’…maybe my issues stem from me perceiving myself to be ‘less than’.

So many people have told me lately that love has nothing to do with looks. But doesn’t it? I mean, really.

This is the paradox I have. I see others as more at the peril of my self worth. I fall for people because they’re smart and funny. Never necessarily because they’re the best looking. But those qualities manifest into the physical. I get to know the person and suddenly they’re the most gorgeous person in the world and I’m not good enough. Conversely my friends have seen the same person and insisted I go have an eye test done.

Forgive me reader, if I’ve digressed in an attempts to air out my self pity.

The conversation with my friend ended with her saying “Yes, objectively, I can say you’re pretty. But I didn’t fall for (insert name here) because she was pretty. In fact, I didn’t think she was pretty at all when I first met her. But I grew to love her.”

I guess the moral of this jumbled mess of a rant is that love isn’t lust. Lust breeds on the physical, on the surface. Love digs a bit deeper, to the parts that are red and black and grey. Maybe love is that thing that happens when someone doesn’t disgust you anymore. Their morning build up of plaque becomes yours. The cellulite on their thighs and the stretch marks on their tummy carry stories with it that you crave to hear.

But maybe a bigger lesson to learn is that love can only ever evolve from love. Maybe it starts with you thinking you’re pretty first and knowing it without having to ask anyone. Maybe then when someone thinks you’re pretty too, you won’t doubt it. And when you think someone is just the most amazing thing ever, you won’t be worried or affected if they don’t think the same.

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