“Perfectly” Comfortable
photo by Nkem Chukwumerije
We live in an age where plastic and filtered selfies reign supreme — in a world that idolizes and continues to glorify abnormally large, fake bottoms, photoshopped bodies, and perfectly airbrushed, flawless skin with overly done makeup. That said, at this point in my journey, I feel comfortable knowing my flabby and stretch-marked body just isn’t enough in this society, though I haven’t always felt this at peace. My journey to self-defining beauty began with shedding the layers of corroded definitions that had enveloped my entire mind and body. Be skinnier, no, be thicker, have fuller lips; more is better, no, less is better; have bigger this and smaller that. If you got it, flaunt it! Pain is beauty; show more skin; wear your hair short; no, longer; have more, more, more, no less, less, less…. shall I continue?
Regrettably, I have been that woman that has tried to fit the mold of this unattainable and expensively put-together shell of a “perfect” woman. Truth was, I wanted to fit in like all the other done-up women. I fell into the trap of thinking that if I looked a certain way, I would be more accepted and perceived as a charming, beautiful, and desirable young woman. I’ve done the fake lashes, fake nails, painted-on clown face, wore the latest, trendiest clothing, spent hours on my hair to get it just right, but somehow still felt inadequate in my own skin. Did I mention that all this work I was putting in wasn’t even to make myself happy or to feel better? It was just a façade to keep up with the other sheep glued to their screens, mindlessly hopping onto the fashion bandwagon searching for the next stylish fixation of the season. I question, though, should the blame really be placed on the many women (including myself) who fall prey to what society deems as the “norm”? Women who, at times, naively place their worth in advertisements that promote overpriced products that swear will change their lives for the better, giving them the fountain of youth or vowing to solve all their problems with the right facial cream or whatever it may be that they’re selling. No, it isn’t the fault of women. We fall victim to what we see over and over again until that input is normalized and we begin to believe it as OUR truth.
“Associating my worth with what was on the outside instinctively took precedence over everything else. I was consumed with the obsessive thought that perfection was just around the corner. But, did that perfect version ever show herself? Nope.”
In this case, impressionable and unoriginal are the best ways to describe my desperate attempt to blend in with the masses of women competing for society’s acceptance and approval. Associating my worth with what was on the outside instinctively took precedence over everything else. I was consumed with the obsessive thought that perfection was just around the corner. But, did that perfect version ever show herself? Nope. Fortunately, something else did. I managed to snap out of this fantasy that performing as a person I am not would make me successful, give me the perfect man, perfect job, or perfect life. I began to dissociate from the broken mentality of living inauthentically; a mentality that had kept me chained to the expectations of the world around me, and that feeds off of the insecurities of young women that simply wanted to be accepted.
I was in my early twenties and was finishing my last year in university. I was going through an internal transformation that would end up manifesting itself externally. From every new hairstyle I tried to every outfit I bought and wore, I just wasn’t satisfied anymore. Externally, I was trying my best to maintain an image of perfection, but internally I didn’t feel aligned — something just wasn’t making sense. I felt my woman’s intuition growing; a new awakening of sorts. I found myself constantly wondering more about God. I had grown up knowing there was a Creator, but I hadn’t spent any time reflecting on this Creator up until that point. Maybe I was finally worn down from all the years of listening to everyone else’s definitions of success and beauty, or maybe I was finally finding my voice through God’s “presence”. I was becoming more self-aware, which ultimately led me to start to define beauty on my own terms. As time passed, I finally reached a turning point where the eroded definitions that previously enveloped me were starting to shed, and a reborn woman was emerging. I was finally done seeing myself through the lens of what the media insisted was THE standard of beauty, and as a byproduct, one that we should all belittle and demean ourselves to attain.
“Beauty is giving yourself the permission to love who you are despite your flaws or shortcomings, and giving yourself freedom from the negative impact of others calling you inadequate or abnormal.”
Following my emergence, I didn’t immediately do anything drastic, except getting a super cute haircut, since — of course — I was going through massive internal struggles and a mental shift. At the time, cutting my hair made sense to do as I was muddling my way through breaking away from the societal views of beauty that were imposed upon me. I soon came to realize that hiding my femininity through a pixie cut only left me with more self-scrutiny. I decided enough was enough and made a powerful decision to cover my hair with a hijab (an Islamic head scarf worn by Muslim women) and to dress more modestly. What pushed me to make my decision was that I finally came to terms with not allowing others to dictate or define what beauty was for me; not the media, nor the other women I compared myself to, not even my own culture. I was exercising my right to advocate for myself, holistically (mind, body, and spirit), not just for what meets the eye. Through this journey, I took matters into my own hands, and now I define beauty as feeling comfortable in your own skin. Beauty is giving yourself the permission to love who you are despite your flaws or shortcomings, and giving yourself freedom from the negative impact of others calling you inadequate or abnormal. In this process of self-defining beauty, I’ve regained the confidence to accept myself first before I accept anyone else to do that for me.
My hijab (this includes how I carry myself), isn’t about draping myself in material because I’m ashamed of my curves -- it’s far from that. What it does do is shift the focus from allowing others to define who I am based on just my looks. I’m not hidden or forced to wear my hijab; I’m liberated because of it. I am not defined by society’s definition of what beauty is. I choose to share my beauty with those who cherish it and who won’t tarnish it. My hijab is a covering; a shield I wear proudly, protecting me from a world that would rather take what’s mine and feed it through a machine that creates plastic barbie dolls; slaves to an industry responsible for creating and corrupting a generation of Kardashian wannabes.
We, as women, are entrusted with the miracle to create life, carry that life, and bring it into existence. So why then, as women, do we allow our bodies to be picked apart, prodded, and criticized by a corrupt society that has no natural rights over them and, furthermore, continues to perpetuate these illusioned ideals? My womanhood is more than my physical form and how it can perform. It is more than how exaggerated I can make my features appear with the coats of makeup I put on, or how big my boobs or butt stand out against other uniquely designed women. I am limitless and will continue to push against the grain. I was not created to simply be a puppet that robotically adheres to the will of those around me. So, until proven otherwise, I will remain “perfectly” comfortable with the body gifted to me, well-defined by MY own standards.
