Am I Beautiful?

A journey from doubt to self-acceptance, and the realization that beauty was never skin-deep.

No One Ever Told Me I Was Beautiful—and, unfortunately, I believed them.

For as long as I can remember, I chased beauty without knowing what it truly looked like.

From the time I could understand the language as a child, I was hit with the most common “joke” in Indian households:
"You’re not really our sibling—your parents picked you up from the trash, or outside a temple."

Even as a kid, I wondered:
If this were even remotely true, why is it funny?

It was hurtful. And it came from those closest to me—my own siblings.

The joke settled in my mind like a stone.
I kept asking my brother why he said it. What proof did he have?

Then came another blow:
"Your complexion is darker than ours."
He said it gently, like it was a fact. Maybe he didn’t know how it would eat away at my self-esteem.
But that was my entry into the world of inferiority complexes.

When I would get ready, I’d ask him how I looked.
He never said, “Very pretty.”
Never.

In fact, nobody ever did!

The Teenage Mirror

Then came the teenage years.
Thinner hair. A body labeled “fat” (even though old photos now show me otherwise).
Short height. Quiet voice.
I was mocked in school. In college. At home.

I was never told I was beautiful.
Not as a girl.
Not as a teen.
Not even now—as a grown woman, a whole human being.

And when you grow up in that kind of silence,
you start to believe it’s because you aren’t.

I used to look at other girls in amazement—each one beautiful in her own way.
But the voice in my head would whisper: “There’s nothing beautiful in you.”

I tried everything: trendy clothes, a little gloss, some kohl.
But even that drew comments like:
"You’re already dark. Kohl doesn’t suit you—it smudges and makes you look darker."

I stopped using it.
But I still kept a kohl stick tucked away in my almirah.

---

I didn’t realize how deeply it had all settled inside me.
The belief that beauty belonged to someone else.
Someone thinner. Fairer. Quieter.
Someone whose features were praised in front of me,
while I quietly faded into the background.

I was the “smart one,” the “strong one,” who always held it together.
But no one said:
“You glow when you laugh.”

“Your eyes are magic when you’re passionate.”

"I love how beautifully you carry yourself."

Or, "You are Beautiful"

So, I learned to live without those words.

The Loneliness of Not Feeling Beautiful

I spent my teenage years shrinking myself—physically, emotionally.
Avoiding cameras.
Comparing myself to those celebrated for looking nothing like me.

I wasn’t made to feel beautiful.
Not by my surroundings.
Not even by myself.

All those years, I lived in a quiet storm of doubt,
thinking: “Am I Beautiful? Will I ever be beautiful to someone?”

The most heartbreaking part?
These comments weren’t from strangers.
They were from the family. Friends. Neighbors.
The people who were supposed to build me up.

Even when I do look pretty now,
I can’t accept it.
Why?
Because I’ve been conditioned to find flaws in myself.

Would you believe me if I said the only thing I prayed for was:
"God, please give me long, shiny, thick hair or just make me a tone fairer?"

That’s all I asked. I even manifested long hairs, just to hear compliments! Gosh! I want to say sorry to my younger self!

Finding the Real Meaning of Beauty

But somewhere along the way—
maybe in quiet moments,
maybe in the people I connected with deeply—
I started to question everything I was taught.

I noticed how some people carried light in their presence.
How kindness made faces glow.
How honesty made eyes shine.
How someone’s laughter, empathy, or resilience left a stronger impression than their looks ever could.

That’s when I began to understand:
True beauty isn’t seen. It’s felt.
It’s the soul shining through how you love, give, and endure.

Yet, the world kept reminding me:
"You are not beautiful."

Then one day, I came across Nayab Midha’s masterpiece:
🎤  Tum Khoobsurat Ho – Nayab Midha (instagram.com/nayab.midha)

Her words were everything I’d been longing to hear—
Not from a parent, not from a partner,
But from within myself.

“Tum khoobsurat ho…”
Not because you are flawless, but because you are real.
Because you have felt deeply, broken quietly, and still chosen to love loudly.

That moment was a mirror.
Not one that reflects skin or features—
but one that reflects your essence.

And for the first time, I saw myself.

I cried.
Then I smiled.

Because I finally believed it:
I was, I am, and I always will be… Beautiful.

I look back at the girl I judged so harshly.
She was vibrant. Soft. Strong.
She wasn’t broken—she was beautiful.
She is beautiful.
She always will be.

Now, I no longer see myself through the world’s lens.
I see myself through the truth I’ve come to know:

Beauty isn’t a size, a shade, or a shape.
Beauty is a soul that stays kind in a world that tried to crush it.

The Kohl Moment

So, did I ever get the courage to wear kohl without feeling conscious?

Umm… never!
But very recently—now that I’ve started believing I am beautiful the way I am—
I started applying it again.

No one compliments my kohl-lined eyes the way poets describe their beloved’s…
But you know what?
That’s okay now.

Because I love myself—with my kohl,
my small bindi,
my honesty,
and my kindness. 💛

To You, Reading This

I’ve decided to make everyone I meet feel beautiful—
for the soul they carry.

To anyone reading this—anyone who needs to be seen, heard, and held:

I see you.
I was you.
But now I know:
You already are everything the world told you to chase.

You are beautiful.
Now. Then. Always.