It’s a strange thing, the way your skin grows to you before you grow into it. The way your skin is always there before you ever become aware. You never noticed what it was or what it did. You never see that it is the boundary, marking where you begin. Then one day, around the age of twelve or thirteen, you notice your skin and you hate what you see.
Oh, what horrible skin you find that you have. You feel stupid for never seeing it. You feel ugly and sad. You loathe your skin. You hate it holding you in. You hate it holding others out. You hate it for being too this, too that, and never quite right. You go on loathing, whining, and moaning, “Why can’t you be different?”.
So, you tan and brighten, trying to change the pigment. You stare in the mirror wishing for a better appearance. You hate it showing off your every hurt, your every growth spurt. So, you scrap it, and pick it, and hope it gets better. You scrub it, and mask it, with sick twisted pleasure. You steam it, and freeze it, in the hope that after you will find your bad skin will become something “other”.
This goes on for years, with bellowing and tears. Then one day, quite random and without cause, you find your skin was perfect, just the way it was. You see it’s perfection in every wrinkle and scar. You see it’s done its job, it’s loved you all along. It’s has protected you, warmed and cooled you. It’s saved you from yourself, on more than one occasion, and you have never shown it any appreciation.
So, please, show that skin some love! Pamper it, baby it, show it off, without shame. Go out without guilt, go on and be bold. Let the whole world know, that the skin you’re in, is a temple to behold.
Original image via Iwan Gabovitch