The Beautiful Flaw

For so long, even now, like my scars, I find my flaws hard to face. But I'm learning to inherit the belief that everything wrong with me is innately as it should be, for me, and for those who love & accept me. It's a monumental task, however, when you aren't one of the people who love and accept you as you are... when you're your biggest critic. I want to show myself and everyone else who struggles with their mental health that it is not an impossible task to find beauty within one's flaws.

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Let's start with the basics, Shopaholics, what are my flaws? If I wrote all the flaws I believe myself to bestow, I would need to write an essay or a book, not a blog post, so instead, I'm going to outline the ones that I believe I have the most chance of correcting as beautiful...

• I'm mentally ill with a severe and enduring chronic illness.

I started with the hardest first. How am I supposed to find the silver lining of a cloud that has no outline, each day bringing a new set of challenges, with an ever-changing goal post? There is beauty that is not within the illness itself but within all of the people who have been there with me, by me, and for me relative to the manifestation of anorexia. It's for all of the doctors who treated me. It's for all the nurses who spent their shift trying to make me happy. It's for every bite my parents tell me they're proud of me for taking. It's for every friend who spent hours visiting me, bringing with them treasures, and simply being by my side. Now that I've looked within the beauty in others' kindness, it's time to look at what is beautiful within the chronic illness itself. My illness has forced me to grow up so quickly, dealing with the severity level of health issues that some only begin to toy with in old age. And that has allowed me to experience a sense of gratitude for parts of life that many others my age deem as normal or uninteresting: The smell of fresh air when I've spent months in one, singular hspital room, falling asleep with my mum and dad in the room next door, my dog buried between my arms when I've spent months longing just to hold their hand and hear their voice and going to work because I have the physical ability to maintain a job and live an independent life when I've spent days adhering to strict routines and times, my day filled by therapy, not earning money. It is beautiful that I have so many moments in an ordinary day that make every one extraordinary, exciting and liberating.

• I'm inextricably insecure.

Maybe, but maybe in a world where bullying, hate and war exist, there's been value in the demons I've been forced to face. The demons have taught me how a word of kindness, an act of service and the sharing of love can profoundly impact someone like me, someone who can't show that type of generosity, graciousness and affection towards herself. Additionally, my insecurities have allowed me to be careful about what I point out in others, instead, being aware of the impact words hold. As a direct result of my insecurities, I am completely aware of the long-standing effect of name-calling. And as a direct result of my insecurities, I am extra gentle on the people around me when I can tell they're having a hard day: I'll let more things go, engage in an act of service, or provide extra compliments to them. I believe my insecurities have aided me in being the type of person I want to be: kind.

• I struggle to take care of myself, instead relying on the support of others.

But isn't it beautiful that the people around me love me so much to the point that they'll do anything to protect me, even if it's horrible that I need protecting from myself? It's not just beautiful, it's unimaginable; their warmth insulates me throughout my eternal Winter. My relationship with the people I rely on for support is bound by leaning on one another's shoulders, always, beautifully, being there to pick up any little pieces that chip off along the way.

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As hard as that was, Dolls, it is undoubtedly possible to choose belief and hope above despisement and sorrow. A dark period does not have to be entirely doused in blackness. There are pores amidst it, and those pores are how you respond to the hardships you're burdened with.

Kisses,

COS x