Am I beautiful?

I've struggled for many years with trying to think of myself as beautiful, attractive, pretty, or what have you. My parents, grandparents, friends, and even boyfriends have told me such things, but those are only temporary compliments. Actually believing those statements and feeling their weight and their value is very different. I think it's something that many women struggle with. Due to the media and photoshop and the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, we're presented with a specific expectation of what society deems acceptable as attractive. It goes something like... blonde wavy hair, blue eyes, high cheek bones, small nose, tan skin, tall, slender build, large breasts, clear skin, long legs.. Something like this

 (Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, who is, in fact, a Vicotria's Secret model. And who also did a bad job of playing Carly, Sam Witwicky's girlfriend in Transformers: Dark Side of the Moon. But that's only my personal opinion.)

I don't look like that. At all. And that's okay. I've come to accept that I'm not going to be every person's idea of beautiful. Not everyone is going to be my idea of handsome. That's just the way it is. But, I spent a good part of 2014 really trying to change my outlook on life. I attempted to become a more positive person, and also to really try to appreciate and love my body. I started working out more often, and I was becoming fascinated with the changes and the progress I was seeing as far as my muscles, how much weight I could lift, how long I could work out for, and how far I could hike. One day, a complete stranger even complimented me telling me that I had the best body a woman could have and that I should keep up the good work (creepiness aside, I really appreciated this comment because someone other than me was noticing my hard work)! For the first time in my life, I was really starting to love who I was becoming and also what I was seeing in the mirror. 

I have definitely backtracked. In the first few months after my surgery, I had a hard time accepting my new scars. As a matter of fact, on two different occasions I almost passed out in the shower while I tried to take off the steri-strips that were on my breast where they took out the tumor, and in my armpit where they took out lymph nodes. I started to have an anxiety attack and had to sit down in the tub, with the water still hitting me, until I finally had my vision back and could turn off the water, and crawl out and sit on the floor. I was SO ANGRY when I took of the bandages on my breast because the scar didn't look straight at all. I was also mad that it's two inches long, and now my breast isn't the same shape as it was before. Now that it's had time to heal, the scar actually is straight, and it's finally settling down. But I couldn't help but having these thoughts - Who is going to want to look at my body now that it's damaged? Who's going to love me with these scars? Who is going to think I'm beautiful now that I have these two scars, and my breasts aren't the same size, and my left one is sort of concave now? How is anyone even going to be able to look at me naked when I can't even stand to look at myself? To top it off, I've since had another surgery where I had a port-a-cath placed in my chest, so I have two MORE scars on the opposite side of my body on my upper chest and neck, and additionally I have this little bulge sticking out (which is the port, whose name is Penelope, aka Penny the Port), and a line that snakes up my neck (which is the catheter that goes into my vein). So... four new scars total, a little bulge, and a lot of new body image issues.

When I shared these fears with people, they've all pretty much responded the same. "You're beautiful." "The right guy won't care about your scars." "Your scars are only a testament to what you've been through." "Scars fade." "Most guys will just be happy that they get to see your chest!" "No two boobs are alike anyway." "Any guy would be lucky to date you." Etc., etc. And I know all of these things. Really, I do. The logical part of me know these things - because they're the truth. Scars only tell a part of my story. Someone told me I should be proud of them, and he's right. I should be. But... I can't. Not yet. Maybe in 10, 15, or 20 years, when I can say that I'm a survivor and this didn't beat me, I'll be proud of them, and maybe they'll barely be visible by then. But for now, I don't even want to acknowledge their existence. BUT. I made a promise to myself. One of my new year's resolutions was, "practice more self love. Always believe in the power of your own beauty, especially in the moments when you feel the least beautiful." So, there have been days where as much as I didn't want to, I've forced myself to stand up straight and look at my scars in the bathroom mirror. I'd stand there naked as I brushed my teeth and did my makeup, forcing myself to accept my new reality. And while yes, to many people, these scars aren't a big deal, to me they are, and I need to get to know them. I've spent 27 years and 4 months without them, and now they'll be with me forever, so I should become familiar with them and accept them. I actually haven't forced myself to do this in a while, now that I think about it, and I probably should with the way I've been feeling lately, but it's a good reminder, I think, for me to realize that I'm not just my scars. Just like I'm not just my cancer. It's only recently that I haven't cared about whether or not Penny is visible with whatever shirt I'm wearing, so I guess in other ways, I'm making progress. But there are other things I know I need to allow myself room for, like the fact that I've gained a little weight for a combination of reasons like not eating very healthy, not exercising, and the steroids that I'm on for chemo. I'm not happy with the weight gain, but at least I have an appetite, whereas someone can't eat anything during chemo because they completely lose their appetite or they're just too sick. I'm at least still able to get out of bed every day and go to work, whereas some women can't even leave their house. 

I'm young and my body is resilient. These scars will fade, Penny will only be with me for the next year, my breast will probably continue to change shape, and eventually I'll find the energy to get back to the gym and to achieve my goal of doing a fitness competition.

Most importantly, though, I am beautiful. And so are you.

Below are pictures of my scars. Sorry if someone finds them inappropriate or offensive, but they've had a really big impact on me, and I feel like the more I see them and come to terms with their existence, the more I'll be able to accept them and move on from them. And maybe, eventually, be proud of them and what they represent.

The first two are of Penny the Port, on February 23, the day she and I were united, March 12, and then below that are Penny and I at lunch yesterday, April 10.

Below that are my scars from my lumpectomy - from late December 2014, to January 4, and the last one was taken March 12.

I still don't love these scars, and I don't really love Penny yet, either. But I'm getting there. One day I won't give them a second though. But until then, I'll just have to keep practicing my mantra of "You are beautiful." and challenging myself whenever I look in the mirror and believing it.