Feeling Beautiful

And how it's different from "pretty"

BLÜ EYES in NYC, sign us up!

Hello friends, it’s been a while… 

I was in the process of posting a rather long caption on Instagram, paired with a carefully selected assortment of carousel images, when I was hit with the dreaded “something went wrong” and lost everything to the ether. A first world, modern day problem if ever there was one. I pulled out my laptop to try and salvage whatever I could, and then sat on it for over a month or two. Here’s what I remembered, plus a few more things that came up — thank you, universe for the glitch, after all.

I had the absolute privilege of going to see Katie Stump of BLÜ EYES (@blueyesmusic) perform in NYC towards the end of the summer. A milestone like no other — I’ll explain. 

Katie is my Taylor Swift of chronic illness. Not only is she an acoustic pop queen, but each new release just happens to sync up perfectly with what I'm experiencing in my Long Covid recovery and gives me the motivation I need to keep going. While facing a chronic illness is first and foremost a terrifying experience, it can also be a heartbreakingly lonely one. Friends, family, and most depressingly, doctors have little understanding of ME/CFS, let alone a brand new disabling post-viral condition like Long Covid. Heck, I have years of firsthand experience and I’m still figuring it out.

BLÜ EYES kept me company for the months I was confined to the twin bed in my office, and joined me when I started sitting outside and taking short walks, rebuilding one achingly small, slow step at a time. I think that’s what people mean when they say music heals: it meets you in the mess and makes you feel less alone.

Cut back to me and Dave stuck in traffic, right before Katie was due to hit the stage. Looking out the passenger window, we could see a crowd forming. The old me would have stuck by his side for fear of crashing in the company of strangers, so I surprised us both when I swung the door open. While I still feel bad that he had to go to not one, but two garages to find parking during rush hour, sadly missing the entire show, we both appreciated the symbolic moment that was me walking off on my own. Being able to stand (!) alone for a full hour, amidst the chaos that is Times Square, felt like an incredibly triumphant and full circle moment. 

I even ignored my disgruntled heart rate monitor and sang along to one of my favorite singles of the year, "used to be pretty." It’s about being so focused on our flaws that we’re unable to appreciate who and where we are right now. By comparing ourselves to how we “used to be,” we repeatedly rob ourselves of joy in the moment.

This hits hard after years of disordered eating and exercise, which I replaced with years of overworking and wellness culture, until my body finally hit the breaks and killed the engine. These life-imploding moments force us to prioritize our health over everything else and to really be present with ourselves, all of which was new to me.

It reminds me of a quote from the ever-validating podcast, "It's OK That You're Not OK" with Megan Devine (@refugeingrief). In the episode "Living with Chronic Illness: A Conversation for Everyone with a Body, with Sarah Ramey,” Sarah says, “If you want to be of service, you have to stop fixing things. And you have to stop making them pretty. As a writer I always like the difference between pretty and beautiful — pretty is this fake, shiny bow you put on the sh*t sandwich and beautiful is like, this is what it is right now. And allowing the fullness of whatever it is to be what it is right now is beautiful, and it is not pretty."

As a people-pleasing, perfectionistic creative director, my former life and career revolved around “making things pretty.” I wore my wedding ring for months after my ex-husband and I painfully separated, refusing to remove the facade of my former life. I remember shaking on the train to go tell my parents, afraid to admit I had “failed.” Throughout my marriage, my curated Instagram feed was a pretty highlight reel of the life I wished I had, not the sh*t sandwich I was actually living. This was a coping strategy that came second nature to me. For as long as I could remember, my insides hadn’t matched my outsides. The mask I put on for other people hid the long list of things I found unlovable about myself.

It was only after crashing into severe fatigue that I began to allow the fullness of what was happening to just, be. I didn’t have the energy for anything else. And it was actually easier to convince my one, lovely remaining brain cell that I had inherent worth than it had been when I was in go-go-go mode, struggling to survive at my 9-5. I practiced acceptance, self-compassion, and appreciation for tiny joys to help me heal. What I didn’t realize was how deep the healing would go — it eventually reached the wounds that had stopped me from being me. I hacked self esteem until I accidentally fell in love with myself. Fake it till you make it!

What I’ve come to learn is this — making things pretty is ultimately a form of control. Being with what *is* allowed for so much more than I could have ever imagined.

In the magnificent banger of a bridge, Katie sings, “I used to be pretty...

Mean to myself
Putting my mind through hell
Locked away in a cell trying to fit in a box made
For somebody else
Sacrificing my health
I was crying for help…”

With that said, I'm done being pretty. And I think that's pretty beautiful.