Birthmarks and Brazen Vulnerability: Reclaiming the Parts of Me I Once Hated

Birthmarks, once concealed, now free to live on face and foot. My mother tried to tell me they were beauty marks—small declarations of my uniqueness. Only took thirty-odd years to see them as such.

Carefree, dark waves with streaks of sunlight, once tamed, now left to their own devices.

An over-identification with feelings and a tendency toward ‘cringe’ vulnerability and volatility, now seen through softer eyes as authenticity, honesty, and emotional courage.

Debilitating perfectionism, now in remission; instead, a newly carved internal space for both excellence and failure, with recognition that I’m giving my best from one moment to the next.

Crippling indecisiveness, now seen as openness to new experiences, and the fluidity of making choices according to self-trust and intuition, not just fear.

Shame and guilt—now recognized as an internal working alarm system, reminding me of my humanity, of my concern for my impact on others, and my desire not to hurt them.

I’m still refining the rest of it. Probably a lifelong process, eh? The point is, everything, even the so-called ugly stuff, serves a purpose.