There have only been two times in my life when I have absolutely, one-hundred percent believed a man when he told me that I am beautiful. The first time I frightened the poor boy half to death by sliding to the floor with tears streaming down my face as I realized that I believed what he was saying. His mother heard me crying and came running into the room exclaiming, "What did you DO to her?!" His confused response, "All I said was she's beautiful!"
The second time was last night after work. I was being a horribly self-centered child, thinking only about the things going on in my life and how desperately I wanted to escape work due to the constant near-tears state I was in. As I started to leave, a coworker caught me and asked me to come talk to him in his car. He's hard to argue with, so I complied.
He let me talk for quite awhile before interjecting any comments. When he did, I was amazed at the honesty in his face. He looked me right in the eye and told me that he thinks I'm beautiful, not because of the make-up or the clothes I wear or how tall or thin I am, but because I'm me. When he looks at me, he sees his gorgeous, funny, intelligent, love able, cute, wise, incredible friend who he enjoys spending time with because of who I am. He doesn't love me based on the way I look. He loves me because he knows me.
And you know what? I believe him. I may not be able to transpose his viewpoint to my own yet, but I believe him. Do you know how incredible that feels? All of it. It's incredible.
All day long, every time something would start to bother me or I'd start feeling sad, I was able to shrug it off and say with a smile, "Who cares? He thinks I'm pretty."