I’m not perfect, and I have to come to terms with that. Weird statement, right? Who would be so egotistical to think that perfection was even an attainable option? And what would “perfection” look like anyway? I don’t think I’m anywhere close to perfect. And for some reason, my own flaws are really difficult for me to accept, especially when it comes to appearance. Bananas, right? A woman with self-esteem issues tied to her appearance?? I’m a trailblazer.

Seriously though, I have definite hang-ups about my appearance and I’m working on them. Most of the time, I can accept and generally love the person I am but it rears its ugly head at strange times. Like when my boyfriend wants to shoot our Christmas card in a rush and we won’t have time to take enough shots to make sure I’m comfortable with the angles (angles… never underestimate the power of angles and lighting in photos) so I have a mini meltdown just thinking about it. Or when we’re late for an appointment, but I have to scramble to throw on makeup because I’m broken out and wildly uncomfortable with a truly naked face.

Why does it matter so much to me? Who I am so worried about impressing? We all know true confidence comes from within, but damn, it sure is nice to get a little outside validation from time to time, amiright? I’m lucky enough to be with a person who loves me unconditionally, and who truly believes I’m the most beautiful woman in the world, inside and out. AND he verbalizes it. Daily. I mean, come on. This is the shit of fairy tales.

As embarrassed as I am to admit it, I think being with someone who is so effusive about my beauty is helping me feel better about myself. I wish I could say I feel confident in who I am and how I look all the time, all on my own, but that’s just not the case. And that’s OK. Being with Gil has basically given me a bar to strive towards: I want to feel as good about myself as he seems to feel about me. I want to embrace the beauty he sees, and see myself through his eyes.

I was feeling particularly vulnerable yesterday as I was struggling with a massive breakout, and there is only so much that makeup can really do. So I threw on a bright lipstick and a big scarf and made my way to the office. That night, I crawled into bed exhausted from the day, and stuffed up from some kind of sinus issue and felt, well, disgusting. I finally wiped away all the makeup I had on for the day, and was completely exposed. Face full of zits. And as Gil laid down next to me and looked into my face after I’d just blown my nose in a towel (don’t judge me), all he could see was beauty. He told me (like he does every night) how beautiful I am and how much he loves me.

I know I’m bordering on disgusting and sappy right now, but I have a point, I promise. In that moment, I had a burst of confidence in my beauty, however you choose to define that word. I spent the whole day at work checking my makeup and trying to camouflage the things I was self-conscious about, wondering if I looked OK. And then in that moment laying in bed, with not a stitch of makeup on and all my flaws completely exposed, I reveled in that feeling… the feeling of being beautiful and loved.

So I documented it. And now I’m sharing it here. Naked. Vulnerable. Not perfect. But feeling happy with my life, my relationship, and the woman I am. If that’s not beauty, I don’t know what is.