Beauty in Asymmetry

When I was 19 years old, I wrote a poem about how my views of myself and the world around me were changing. It was bouncy and rhymed, as did almost everything I wrote in that season of life. Now, a full decade later, I am sitting at this computer as a 29-year-old, contemplating writing something else that speaks to my new understanding of my worth, my beauty, and my sense of what matters.

It’s interesting that, although I would be happy to lose the 10 extra pounds, crow’s feet, and sun spots that have crept up on me since “Nineteen” was written, I find myself at a place where I feel more valuable, loved, and lovely in my own right than ever before. The stretch marks from carrying my children are losing their power to make me pout, my fish-belly-white legs are shamelessly sporting shorts on hot days, and my curls—behaving or not—don’t stop me from jumping into photographs with my babies. Though I once agonized that my face was plain and asymmetrical, I now find myself fascinated that this is the face God chose to give me. This is the face in which my friends see camaraderie, my husband sees beauty, and my children see home. Because of these and a thousand more reasons, I don’t want to be—or look like—anyone else.

I wish I could have grasped this earlier. I remember wanting the earth to swallow me whole when a group of boys my age deemed me “ugly” as I passed by them on my way to play a middle-school volleyball game. I remember standing in the bathroom during passing periods in high school with a mirrored compact in hand, fighting back tears as I tried to tuck away stray hairs or camouflage an angry red zit on my chin. I remember sneaking in and out of the shower when I was pregnant with Anna so that Brian wouldn’t see the purple-pink stretch marks striped across my hips or the acne blistering my shoulder blades. And across all those years, I’m not sure how many countless hours I spent in front of a mirror just staring. *Sigh.*

It’s not that I never feel miffed by a new break-out or misbehaving hair. It’s just that I recognize now that these things don’t define me. Whereas my 19-year-old self realized that my flaws weren’t the only things other people saw, my 29-year-old self realizes that physical beauty is arbitrary—regardless of flaws or symmetry. Beautiful in the eyes of the rest of the world or not, I can live my days with purpose and relish in the fact that I am loved beyond measure. That is where I found my enduring “beautiful.”

Here’s “Nineteen,” by the way…

Nineteen

I’m not a worthless person,

No, at nineteen, I’m worth a lot.

God’s given me great talents,

And I’m blessed with what I’ve got.

There is promise for my future,

I’m not scared to call the shots,

And I’m finding there is strength inside of me.

When I look now in the mirror,

(Though I’m not a beauty queen),

I know pimples, marks, and frizzies

Aren’t the major features seen.

In me is a splash of beauty

I can see now at nineteen

(And I’ve come to the conclusion I’m not fat).

When it comes to money matters,

I’ve been broke and close to tears.

“Money is the root of evil”

(Or at least some of my fears).

But I’ve never gone without,

Not one time in nineteen years,

And bit by bit, I’m learning money comes.

I know that my emotions

(when irrational) can be beat.

I can roll with punches, take my knocks,

And wind up on my feet,

And while my learning of ‘perspective’

Is a long way from complete,

I feel now, age nineteen, I’m growing up.

Lacey Heilman—age nineteen

February 12, 2003