The first time anyone ever told me I was beautiful, I was 19, and my self-esteem had just taken four months of even more battering than it was usually subjected to.
It was in a dark passage, security lighting from the buildings outside only filtering in a little. We stood there, about five of us, waiting for someone to lock the door to their office so we could all leave together. I don’t remember what we talked about, but I remember that his statement was unexpected. He looked at me and said to his girlfriend, “this girl is so beautiful, and she doesn’t even know it.” I laughed and said, “it’s so dark, you can’t see my face.” And then he turned to me and said, “I mean it, you’re beautiful, and I’m not just talking about on the outside. You’re so passionate and you have the ability to carry a vision and run with it, even if it’s not yours. He doesn’t realize what he has.”
I smiled again and said, “thank you”. And then we went out into the night and I began to think that maybe, just maybe there is something inside me that is important. And so what if I’m not physically appealing? I am so much more.