Be your own kind of beautiful.

Let me tell you what I ate for lunch yesterday: una bola de yuca (a fried ball of yuca with cheese in the middle), lasagna, a croissant (again with cheese in the middle), rice, and chinola (passion fruit juice that is mostly just sugar). Not the healthiest meal imaginable. While I usually have access to a fruit or vegetable at each meal, low-calorie options aren't generally available at my house. Initially I was a little alarmed, but my perspective  has begun to shift. The truth is, regardless of what these yuca balls, etc. may be doing to me, I've felt more comfortable in my own skin here than ever before. (I guess being told you're beautiful by random men 3+ times daily eventually starts making an effect on you.)

yuca balls

I (only half-joking) told a Dominican friend recently that I may have gained ten pounds in the first month of being here. "It did you good," he said in complete seriousness. I was taken aback.  My very American mind was bewildered. Was he kidding? He had to be kidding. Unless you have been kept in a concentration camp for an extended period of time, gaining weight is never a good thing. He must have seen my confused expression, because he continued. "Really," he said, "It's good to have some curves."

They call us "blanca con culo". Look it up.

The way various physical characteristics are valued here is gradually making more sense to me. I'd always heard that in Latin American culture having curves is seen as a good thing, but I never truly believed or understood it. Because I've been so brainwashed by our Western ideal of beauty, I've always thought that thinner is inherently and universally better. Thus the bewilderment of my north American worldview crashing into the reality of another culture. I've really been shocked several times, not only by conversations like the one with my friend but with what I've seen: curvaceous women being embraced and appreciated by an astounding number of men. In the streets, in clubs, or on campus, I'm constantly seeing Dominican women who I would not characterize as thin, yet who carry themselves like the beauties they are. And what's more, they don't seem to have a problem getting a boyfriend or a dance partner or anything. Another friend recently explained it to me like this: "You know how American men feel about  feet? That's how Dominicans feel about fat. Yeah, it's better if your girl has nice feet, but no one really cares."

On the other hand, Dominicans have their own ideals of beauty. Most people here are from mixed European and African descent, and their hair is similar to that of most African Americans. It is of the utmost importance that women here have stick-straight, soft hair. They don't usually get relaxers, but from what I gather, they go fairly often to a salon to have their hair blow-dried straight and smooth. Having curly, wavy, or natural hair is apparently a big turn-off, so much so that Dominican men will pay for their girlfriends to get their hair done "right". Maybe it's just a cultural norm that's seen almost as more of a hygienic issue; I mean, I don't know too many American men who want their girlfriends to give up shaving. But I was heartbroken when I realized how this cultural ideal of beauty plays out. Last week at the children's center where I volunteer, one of our sweet students stroked my hair softly with her tiny, olive-colored hand. "Me gusta tu pelo," she said wistfully. "Mi pelo es malo." Which translates into "I like your hair. My hair is bad." Alarmed, I frantically tried to convince her in my broken Spanish that no, her hair was beautiful too. Just different. She smiled faintly but the look in her eyes told me that she didn't believe a word I said.

(Sorry, this isn't her. But you get the idea.)

I've always been fascinated and mystified by the definition of beauty, and the brokenness of poor self-image breaks my heart in a way I can't explain. In the past few years, I have known countless women of various cultural backgrounds who have had deep wounds from receiving messages of what beauty is or isn't. Whether it's an American woman who thinks she needs to lose that bit of fat from her tummy or a Dominican woman who wishes her hair would sway when the wind blows, the story is the same -- a tragedy. It's tragic that from our childhoods, we grow up with ideas of what beauty is and isn't. We're taught to evaluate ourselves and others by a set of standards decided by someone else.

In my opinion, Satan's got a strong foothold in our world in this way. By convincing us that our value depends on our hair or our weight or our color, he also convinces us of a lie about our creator. He wants us to believe that God was sloppy with some of us. Your skin color is a little darker than all the movie stars? You have love handles? Your nose has a bump? You're short? Sorry kid, God must have gotten a little distracted when he was working on you. That's the message we believe when we accept that we are anything less than beautiful.  And it's the message we send others when we categorize them. Whether it's explicit (Top 20 Most Beautiful Women of Wheaton) or implicit (only dancing with the "cute" guys), it's a lie we can't stop telling. And we're all guilty.

How do we stop it? I wish I had an answer for how to take this big fat lie and turn it on its head in an instant, but I don't. All I can offer is that we each have to start with ourselves. Refusing to receive lies and refusing to tell them. Looking for places they've infiltrated our subconscious that we never even recognized and tearing them apart with ferocity. And if you believe in God and his work in your life, handing it over to him and letting him heal your heart from the wounds that have been inflicted upon it.

My friend Liz (whose blog you should definitely follow) has a quote that I love. And if you've ever questioned your worth or your value based on what the world tells you, I want you to memorize it and  repeat it until you believe it: There could never be a more beautiful you.