There is a moment, a moment which occurs, for me, almost every morning, during which I shrink my universe down to an unimaginably small, selfishly tragic scale. It is a moment that exists solely of human creation, driven clearly by a most ridiculous societal voice, a voice we seem unable to rid ourselves of.

It is because of this moment that I must write this.

About six or seven months ago, I decided I wasn't going to place worth in my looks, and it was a glorious decision. Phenomenal. And I will stand by this decision for the rest of my life, although sadly, it is much easier said than done.

You see, also within this last six or seven months, my skin took a turn for the worse. Again. Nearing twenty years old, I thought I was finally in the clear from acne, something all the adults promised me would go away with my teenage years, but, alas, such would not be the case. After a year of antibiotics and a little rest from the outbreaks and from caring, it was back, and better than ever. The discomfort and shame of always, always wondering if the person you're talking with is looking at your skin instead of at your heart!

And now, this past week, I took note of a moment that I'd let slide for a long time. It is a moment in which I shrink my entire universe down to the state of my face.

This moment— it is the moment I first look into the mirror after waking up. Those that know me know that I am somewhat lacking in the vision department. And so, thanks to biology itself, before putting my contacts in or my glasses on, I see a blurred version of myself, a self with perfect skin. Without my vision corrected, I look into that mirror, and none of the blemishes are there. Crystal clear, my complexion falsely reflects back. And sometimes, sometimes I pause and wait before the daily process of contact-application. Sometimes I pause and gaze at my skin, savoring the last glance before bad news settles in and I must face the day as I am.

Sometimes I pause because I like myself a little more when I can't see what's really there.

That's the moment. And that's terrible. I loathe how life has made me put so much weight on the woman that looks back in the mirror at me compared to the woman I am expected, by society and myself, to look like. Especially when a human being is certainly not comprised of their physical attributes, but something much more holy and divine.

And to think, seven and a half billion people on this planet might possibly do the same, might look into the mirror and be wholly unsatisfied because they have been told what beauty is, and what it is not. Because we, as a people, have been told what ugly is, and continue to tell it to ourselves and to others.

Frankly, I think we should take ugly out of our vocabulary, at least when talking about actual human persons.

Thoughts can be ugly. Actions can be ugly. Perhaps even vital parts of the heart can be ugly, when twisted by evil, ugly things. But human beings themselves— breathtaking. Look at yourself! The cells that work tirelessly, day and night, to keep you alive! The complexity of your mind! The beauty of your joy, your smile! The soul in the depths of your eyes! The creation that you are! My God, are you beautiful.

Ugly is an ugly word. We'd do best not to use it against ourselves or each other.

So now, after about seven months of trying not to care about what I look like, I'm going to keep trying. After months of trying to find the truth about what it means to beautifully exist, I'm going to keep trying. After months of restlessness and discontent with what humanity has seemed to settle for, I'm going to keep trying to be the human I was made to be. After a lifetime of growth and finding things and being disappointed and falling, miserably and headfirst, I'm going to keep marching on. I've begun to leave the lies behind. And I desperately hope that, one day, the humankind that I adore would try the same. I think what I want the most in life is for all of us to simply love one another, and ourselves.

Now, granted, I know that for the rest of my life, I will probably care at least somewhat about my appearance. I am, after all, a human being brought up in a world that tells me that my appearance is a severe place of worth for me. And I am, after all, a human being that has often chosen to believe this.

But what an absolutelyugly lie.