Being Ugly

I want to say upfront that I don’t consider myself a “feminist”. I did however grew up in a feminist community, around other powerful women like my grandmother, my mother or my aunts but none of them have ever identified that way. There was no word for it, it was just…their life. It was how they had to learn to be, to survive.  It was what they had crafted out of the fires of their desires and loving. It was part of how they had learned to be magnificent.

Their gender was about being a living force. Their gender was about dignity and honour. Their gender was about feeding family and raising children; organizing for themselves when no one else would. Going the extra mile. Their gender was about hard work rather then what shoes should we wear. And My God! They were beautiful!

As I watch them and our world today I realised that we all do it. We all run from the ugly. And the farther we run from it, the more we stigmatize it and the more power we give beauty.  People are obsessed with being beautiful and gorgeous and hot.  What would it mean if we were ugly?  What would it mean if we didn’t run from our own ugliness or each other’s?   How do we take the sting out of “ugly?”  What would it mean to acknowledge our ugliness for all it has given us, how it has shaped our brilliance and taught us about how we never want to make anyone else feel?  What would it take for us to be able to risk being ugly, in whatever that means for us.  What would happen if we stopped apologizing for our ugly, stopped being ashamed of it?  What if we let go of being beautiful, stopped chasing “pretty,” stopped shrinking and spending enormous amounts of money and time on things that don’t make us magnificent? 

Where is the Ugly in you? What is it trying to teach you?

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