Now that I've officially graduated, got a job, moved into an apartment, and ran to Target at 10:30pm on a work night (which is my bed time) to buy my own toilet paper, I guess you could say that I am #adulting hard core now. In a lot of ways I still feel like I'm in high school. I'm learning, making silly mistakes, and looking to make extra cash whenever the opportunity comes my way. But in a lot of ways- I look back on high school and see such a different person, both in my action and in my thought. I spent time living with my finance’s family before my apartment was ready to move into. Mark has a two adopted sisters—ages, one is four and the other just turned three. The older one share’s my name—Ella—and as crazy, loud, and dramatic as four-year-olds can be, I adore her. During the few weeks that I lived with them, I saw innocent Ella moves through life with such energy and passion. She is beautiful, her dark skin looks like satin, eyes are shaped like big, round, almonds, and her hair is thick, soft, and falls in teeny tiny ringlets around her face. Ella is told she is cute, pretty, and loved by so many people. It is true. But that doesn’t change anything. To Ella, life is an endless world of possibilities. One day she might decide to be a princess—and spin around the house with her "Elsa dress” on. The next, she might decide to look for treasure buried deep in the sandbox, stick her head in it, and feel the consequences when her mom is picking sand off her scalp for the next month. Ella doesn’t care what other people think. Ella is beautiful—physically—but that means nothing to her. Which made me sad when I thought about it at first—that someday Ella will feel the pressures of society, to be, to look, to act a certain way—in order to maintain her “prettiness”. This post is a letter to Ella…
Dear Ella, You are an incredible girl. You are strong. You are smart. You are funny. And You are physically beautiful. People tell you often how pretty you are, how pretty your hair is when it is all combed up into a big bun. How cute you look in your little pink dresses. And how lovely your smile is. Obviously I could not agree more. But I hope that “the cute & pretty girl” does not become the core of who you are. I hope that all this acknowledgement of your beauty will not become your source of affirmation someday. I hope that somehow—through our age of photoshop and Instagram filters—that you will know that your defining beauty is from within.
Much like you Ella, I was a care-free girl growing up. I loved playing outside, singing to the radio, and eating big bowls of ice-cream late at night. For a long time, I wasn’t bothered by what people said or thought about me. I was me. I was Ella. And then things changed when I neared my teenage years—as they do for many girls. I became aware of what it means to be “pretty” in our society. I grew up in a wonderful home—I never heard my mom complain about her body around me and she never said anything discouraging about mine. But it is our culture. Lets face it, we all want to be “pretty” and we’re fed content which tries to define what “pretty” looks like. In our teen years, we see glossy magazines screaming the same message at us. Pretty girls are popular. Pretty girls are skinny with perfect abs. Pretty girls get dates. Pretty girls get the attention, love, and security we all crave.
Among my memories of playful teenage adventures, I remember hours of standing in front of the mirror wishing I looked a certain way—I wished my body was thiner and curvier, my eyes were less huge, and I could grow a few more inches. I remember conversations with friends revolving around our desire for "beauty" and how we could physically attain it. We were selective about which pictures of us got posted on social media, and we made sure we only got tagged in ones where we looked our very best. It was life and we were embracing our culture.
Ella, let me clarify here. Beauty is not a bad thing. It is a gift. Your beautiful eyes, hair, and skin are a lovely masterpiece. Our culture has commodified beauty though—to something that can be bought or sold. Just as other people enjoy when you laugh and smile—don’t stop sharing your beauty because culture is trying to turn it into something trivial.
Much like you Ella, I was a care-free girl growing up. I loved playing outside, singing to the radio, and eating big bowls of ice-cream late at night. For a long time, I wasn’t bothered by what people said or thought about me. I was me. I was Ella. And then things changed when I neared my teenage years—as they do for many girls. I became aware of what it means to be “pretty” in our society. I grew up in a wonderful home—I never heard my mom complain about her body around me and she never said anything discouraging about mine. But it is our culture. Lets face it, we all want to be “pretty” and we’re fed content which tries to define what “pretty” looks like. In our teen years, we see glossy magazines screaming the same message at us. Pretty girls are popular. Pretty girls are skinny with perfect abs. Pretty girls get dates. Pretty girls get the attention, love, and security we all crave.
Among my memories of playful teenage adventures, I remember hours of standing in front of the mirror wishing I looked a certain way—I wished my body was thiner and curvier, my eyes were less huge, and I could grow a few more inches. I remember conversations with friends revolving around our desire for "beauty" and how we could physically attain it. We were selective about which pictures of us got posted on social media, and we made sure we only got tagged in ones where we looked our very best. It was life and we were embracing our culture.
Ella, let me clarify here. Beauty is not a bad thing. It is a gift. Your beautiful eyes, hair, and skin are a lovely masterpiece. Our culture has commodified beauty though—to something that can be bought or sold. Just as other people enjoy when you laugh and smile—don’t stop sharing your beauty because culture is trying to turn it into something trivial.
I don’t really know when my personal struggle with body image ended, but it was sometime in college. I realized that life was much more than physical appearance and worrying about looking like a super model took away from experiences awaiting me. I lost a decent amount of weight and experienced both the benefits thin-privilege (people being kinder to you because you are “pretty”) as well as the accusations of anorexia. I guess I was forced into owning who I was and what I looked like. I stopped dressing for others and wore what I wanted. I could care less about what the celebrities were wearing, what diet they were on, or how they were doing their makeup. In a way—I took a step toward the freedom you have Ella—to live life free of the pressure to look “pretty”. (I remember seeing a pinterest post during this time of “the perfect dress for your body type” and was like—what the heck?. It showed that a mermaid dress could only be worn by a select few and the empire waist dress should be worn on the bigger girls to cover up their “unflattering love-handles”. Seriously? Let the girls wear what they want.)
Ella, embrace a broad definition of beauty. Our society tends to idealize an exclusive image of what “pretty” means. If a woman has a genetic inheritance close to that ideal, she is ideal, she is envied. Other women, less fortunate, are taught to wear clothing and make-up that draws attention to or de-emphasizes their “best” and “worst” traits. They learn to compensate. Our societies narrow definition of beauty takes individuality out of us. Each of us are so individual in our physical appearance, interests, and mannerisms—it is wrong and nearly impossible to not embrace a broader definition of “pretty”. But culture tries to force a narrow one upon us. Never look down upon someone because they are different than you—instead appreciate their unique gift of beauty, see the individuality, and admire the masterpiece that God created in them.
In college I surrounded myself with beautiful people—people of diverse interests, intellect, and deepness of thought. In my mind these people were the pretty people of the world. For them—their beauty came from experiences and love for the world. I hope you choose friends like these Ella. They will build you up. They will edify and challenge you. They will remind you that life is so much more the way you look. Don’t ever confuse beauty with value.
Ella, I chose to write this to you after my second week of work in my new job. I was still living with your family at that time. Coming home to you I saw pure love for and wonder for life. You were beautifully curious about everything surrounding you. You would spin in your flowy dresses some nights and run around, chasing chickens in old shorts other nights. The endless amounts of laughter that you brought to the end of my long days made your physical beauty seem so insignificant compared to the joy radiating out of you. At work, I started eating my packed lunch at a table of girls who worked in different departments at our building. I felt young there—21, hardly out of college, living with your family—not quite on my own, and slightly blind to the world of pop culture, among girls well into their adult career. One thing that immediately caught me off guard though was their constant, daily conversation around body image. Not one of the girls sitting around our table was “fat”, but there was always a new diet. Someone was always counting their calories. And someone was always commenting on how much weight she had gained or lost. One time I tried to tell someone they looked great the way they were and a girl made a snarky comment on how skinny I was. There was no win and it was shocking.
I sat their one day—eating about twice as much as anyone their shamelessly and diverted the conversation to talking about good restaurants in the area. The girls perked up and started talking about the cool taco bars, the best places for ice cream, and hipster cafes. It hit me—non of these girls really hate their life, food, or their bodies. They are simply a product of a culture which shoves a narrow message of the ideal “pretty” down their throat. We went out to eat today—and we all ate tacos until our stomachs exploded. We laughed and told stories about high school. No one cared that they had eaten twice as many calories than they would normally eat, that they had salsa on their blouses, or cilantro stuck in their teeth. We were having fun and I felt like I was with truly fun, intelligent, and beautiful people. To me—they were all prettier then, than I had ever see them. Ella, remember this and never skip the cake at the party.
Ella, embrace a broad definition of beauty. Our society tends to idealize an exclusive image of what “pretty” means. If a woman has a genetic inheritance close to that ideal, she is ideal, she is envied. Other women, less fortunate, are taught to wear clothing and make-up that draws attention to or de-emphasizes their “best” and “worst” traits. They learn to compensate. Our societies narrow definition of beauty takes individuality out of us. Each of us are so individual in our physical appearance, interests, and mannerisms—it is wrong and nearly impossible to not embrace a broader definition of “pretty”. But culture tries to force a narrow one upon us. Never look down upon someone because they are different than you—instead appreciate their unique gift of beauty, see the individuality, and admire the masterpiece that God created in them.
In college I surrounded myself with beautiful people—people of diverse interests, intellect, and deepness of thought. In my mind these people were the pretty people of the world. For them—their beauty came from experiences and love for the world. I hope you choose friends like these Ella. They will build you up. They will edify and challenge you. They will remind you that life is so much more the way you look. Don’t ever confuse beauty with value.
Ella, I chose to write this to you after my second week of work in my new job. I was still living with your family at that time. Coming home to you I saw pure love for and wonder for life. You were beautifully curious about everything surrounding you. You would spin in your flowy dresses some nights and run around, chasing chickens in old shorts other nights. The endless amounts of laughter that you brought to the end of my long days made your physical beauty seem so insignificant compared to the joy radiating out of you. At work, I started eating my packed lunch at a table of girls who worked in different departments at our building. I felt young there—21, hardly out of college, living with your family—not quite on my own, and slightly blind to the world of pop culture, among girls well into their adult career. One thing that immediately caught me off guard though was their constant, daily conversation around body image. Not one of the girls sitting around our table was “fat”, but there was always a new diet. Someone was always counting their calories. And someone was always commenting on how much weight she had gained or lost. One time I tried to tell someone they looked great the way they were and a girl made a snarky comment on how skinny I was. There was no win and it was shocking.
I sat their one day—eating about twice as much as anyone their shamelessly and diverted the conversation to talking about good restaurants in the area. The girls perked up and started talking about the cool taco bars, the best places for ice cream, and hipster cafes. It hit me—non of these girls really hate their life, food, or their bodies. They are simply a product of a culture which shoves a narrow message of the ideal “pretty” down their throat. We went out to eat today—and we all ate tacos until our stomachs exploded. We laughed and told stories about high school. No one cared that they had eaten twice as many calories than they would normally eat, that they had salsa on their blouses, or cilantro stuck in their teeth. We were having fun and I felt like I was with truly fun, intelligent, and beautiful people. To me—they were all prettier then, than I had ever see them. Ella, remember this and never skip the cake at the party.
Finally, sweet Ella, your physical beauty—as lovely as it is—will fade. The contagious laughter that you bring to the world will leave little lines on your face. Your adventures in the great outdoors (which I truly hope you have many of) will leave scars on your legs—from scratches and bruises. If you decide to have children someday, society will try to tell you that you will become “less pretty” because to it. Child-bearing "ruins your figure”. But Ella, live life—embrace what you look like and do not let it define you. I pray that you find more joy in running around outside with band-aids across your knees than you find in front of the mirror or on the scale. I pray that you never trade the opportunity to become a mother in order to stay in your size 2 jeans. Enjoy life, it is a gift.
When I look at you Ella, I see a pretty girl, but I also see a girl who is intelligent, curious, loving, and full of joy . Never forget that. The greatest beauty to be found in life is not what the world sees when it looks at you, but what you see when you look at the world.
Love,
The Other Ella
When I look at you Ella, I see a pretty girl, but I also see a girl who is intelligent, curious, loving, and full of joy . Never forget that. The greatest beauty to be found in life is not what the world sees when it looks at you, but what you see when you look at the world.
Love,
The Other Ella