My Battle With Beauty

The Rollercoaster of Confidence

My relationship with beauty has been tangled for as long as I can remember. It’s a paradox, a constant push and pull. I crave it, but at the same time, I shy away from it.

Recently, I was at a live event filled with sensory magic—breathwork, sound healing, ecstatic dance, circus arts, and a market selling exquisite artisan wares. At one stall, I was drawn to a table adorned with feather earrings and delicate bottles of perfume. A woman offered me a sample of a fragrance called Ocelus.

It was unlike anything I’d ever smelled—rich, layered, and completely intoxicating. I had to have it! She told me it contained the essence of the peacock, or pavo real in Spanish. 🦚

Naturally, it felt like fate. Of course, I needed a scent that symbolised a peacock. I could use a little more feather fluffing, a little more confidence in parading myself.

The woman was a bruja, a witch, and she recently was on a podcast exploring the spiritual essence of birds. What she does is channel their energy into rituals and adornments. (Note: it’s in Español, but the idea is just as beautiful if you don’t speak the language.)

But beauty—ah, beauty—it’s more than feathers and perfume. It’s a complex story that’s been told to me, about me, and within me.

When my daughter is stopped by strangers who remark on her beauty (which happens daily), I feel conflicted. I want her to know she is so much more than what she looks like, but I also don’t want her to reject the gift of being seen—like I have.

It reminds me of my own awkward relationship with beauty growing up. As a teen, my mum had me chop my long hair into a pixie cut and dye it red so I’d stand out. She thought it was important for me to be different, but I wonder if it was just to keep the boys away from my blossoming self.

She also taught me to keep my “everyday look” plain so that when I did dress up, it would feel special. But the result? I’ve spent most of my adult life feeling plain, blending into the background, and comparing myself to women who radiate.

Recently, I visited a consignment store with some girlfriends. One effortlessly found about 10 gorgeous, classy pieces that hung on her deliciously. I looked around and told myself nothing would suit. But would it have?

Was I judging the clothes, or was I judging myself?

When I see women who embrace their femininity, I feel small and unsure of myself. I don’t know where to start—what to wear, how to adorn myself, or how to hold that kind of energy.

And yet, I long for beauty. It’s a non-negotiable in my environment. My soul feels alive in cities like San Miguel de Allende, where vibrant colours and rich textures dance around every corner. I’m enchanted by Europe’s cobblestone streets and ancient architecture. But when it comes to my own appearance, my inner world feels stripped bare.

Postpartum was the hardest chapter of all. I was lost in hormonal fog, wearing clothes chosen solely for “boobability” and not style. Nothing fit. I didn’t feel like myself.

I hired a stylist to help me climb out of the slump. She walked me through wardrobe edits and sourced missing pieces, but I never completed the sessions. I defaulted to old habits—throwing on whatever was easiest, and still do.

A friend (and woman you should definitely follow) recently shared a documentary with me called Why Beauty Matters, and it struck a nerve. Some people seem to effortlessly exude beauty, as though it’s woven into their DNA. But for me, it feels like an uphill battle.

Part of me wonders if my astrology—triple earth energy—keeps me grounded and practical. I don’t want to prance around in fancy outfits that feel inauthentic. I want to feel good, look good, and be comfortable. Is that too much to ask?

My wardrobe tells the story of survival—clothes designed for function, not form. And while I don’t want to feel overdressed running errands or visiting the playground, I also don’t want to feel invisible.

This is where I am: craving simplicity and beauty, while untangling the narrative of what it means to feel radiant. Maybe it starts with small steps—a spritz of Ocelus, a pair of feather earrings. Maybe it’s about redefining beauty for myself and letting it bloom in ways that feel true.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s about recognising that beauty isn’t something you find in a mirror or a wardrobe. It’s a spark, a willingness to say, “I’m here, and I matter.”

I'd love to know what your relationship with beauty is. Is it easy for you or do you struggle like I do?

This is a conversation I would love to have, especially as mothers, as women.

In a world that is always telling us we're not enough, how do we find out if we really are?

Aimee

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