A video circulating on social media shows people reacting to being told that the filmmaker finds them beautiful.

I cried when I watched it.  it must be said, I cry at Hallmark commercials and at the sight of roadkill.  I don’t know what nature intended. but nurture has turned me soft.

But I find the thought of being considered beautiful particularly  heartrending.  An old friend, Timothy Pettet, tells me that I am beautiful whenever he sees me.  He’s married to another old friend, Mary (now known as) Pettet, who truly is beautiful.  But Tim is a poet and poets speak a truth flavored with something more than physical reality.  His assessment lacks credibility as anything but a gauge of his own pure heart.

I’ve never been told that I’m beautiful by someone not angling for something.  I have been told, “you are beautiful to me” which is not at all the same.  “Beauty” might be in the eye of the beholder but some physical qualities shine with an undeniable objective reality.  I know that I can make myself presentable, but I also know that most folks not looking at me with the eyes of love or lust do not consider me “beautiful”.

Why do women need to be considered “beautiful” to value themselves?  Men do not seem to judge their worth by the appeal of their faces or physiques, except to the extent that a particular man thinks he should be “strong” or “tall” or capable of lifting heavy weights.   But  “handsome” does not demonstrate the measure of a man’s worth in quite the same way.

I’ve searched the internet in vain for a copy of the Rhoda  episode in which Rhoda’s sister Brenda cries at the kitchen table because she’s never felt pretty.  I understand her anguish.  I keenly feel that way, no matter how much I talk to myself, no matter how many platitudes I sputter.  Skin deep, not lasting, fleeting, superficial.  Inner beauty.

Inner beauty — you’ve all heard this.  She’s beautiful inside.  Really! I suppose there are lots of men who court women on the basis of that inner beauty, but open the bathroom cupboard and you’ll find that even those women stockpile potions, creams, mascara, blush, foundation, and lipstick because that is what they think makes them beautiful.  Even if they eventually believe that their partners truly value their “inner beauty”, they’ll still paint their faces, pad their bosoms, and shave their  legs.  To feel beautiful.

I don’t know if this obsession haunts only American women.  I’ve never had a passport much less traveled outside of the continental United States so I have not seen the cultural manifestation of this phenomenon anywhere but here.  Studies address this, summarized HERE in 1997.  Speaking strictly for myself:  I have understood my whole life that society values a “beautiful” woman more than society values a woman who is not “beautiful”.  Dispute that if you want to do so.  Gasp in shock. Shake your head.  Assure me it is not true.  You lie.  You deceive yourself and strive to deceive me.  But I don’t buy your lame, well-intended reassurances.

So, why do I bore you with this?  Why do I take a half-hour of my Sunday to add a blog entry in My Year Without Complaining about my physical state?  For this reason:  Because in this two-year quest to live complaint-free, I have learned that almost every — if not every — expression of complaint masks the speaker’s judgment of themselves as unappreciated.  Unloved.  Unvalued.

And our society values what it finds beautiful.  So:  when someone whines, grumbles, complains — understand this:  They do not feel beautiful.  Not inside not outside not inside-out.  They feel unbeautiful and they feel unloved.

Trust me on this.  If we all felt beautiful, none of us would complain.  Take that and do with it what you will.