The Beauty in Her Insecurities

Even in the darkest rooms, light finds a way to shine through.

Her insecurities aren’t flaws to me. They’re layers, stories, little windows into the parts of her she’s not ready to share with the world. They’re the cracks where her light spills through, unfiltered and raw, and I can’t help but find them mesmerizing. It’s strange, isn’t it? The very things she wishes she could hide are the things that make her the most beautiful in my eyes.

She’s confident, sure. The kind of confidence that can fill a room. But then there are moments—those small, fleeting ones—when her confidence falters, and she lets me see the parts of her she tries to keep tucked away. The way she bites her lip when she’s unsure, the way her voice softens when she admits she doesn’t know something, the way she looks at herself in the mirror, searching for flaws I can’t see.

I’ve told her a hundred times that she’s beautiful, and I mean it every single time. But it’s not just the way she looks—it’s the way she feels, the way she exists in the world. It’s the way she questions herself sometimes, the way she’s so human and so real that it makes my heart ache. It’s the way she keeps going, even when she’s afraid, even when she doesn’t feel enough.

Her insecurities don’t make her weak. They make her brave. Because she faces them every day, even when they whisper lies in her ear, even when they try to convince her she’s less than she is. She doesn’t always win, but she shows up. And to me, that’s everything.

Sometimes, I wonder if she’ll ever see herself the way I see her. Not as someone who’s lacking anything, but as someone who’s whole, someone who’s extraordinary because of everything she’s been through and everything she is. She’s not perfect, but who wants perfect? Perfect is boring. Perfect is predictable. She’s neither of those things, and I wouldn’t trade her for anyone who is.

And I hope, in some way, I can help her see it. That when she looks in the mirror, she doesn’t just see the flaws she’s convinced are there. That she sees the woman I see: strong, vulnerable, beautiful in ways that words can’t capture. Because she’s not just beautiful despite her insecurities. She’s beautiful because of them.

PS: Maybe one day, she’ll believe it. Until then, I’ll keep reminding her. Not because she needs my validation, but because the truth deserves to be said out loud. Always.