“Dear girl in the green costume”: the viral letter that invites us to accept ourselves as we are

On the web we stumbled upon a beautiful letter from a Spanish writer: her invitation is to accept yourself as you are.

Don't store avocado like this: it's dangerous

The corners of the lips downwards, to simulate daily disapproval, and the stern look of those who are not forgiven. Even today, if you make it, you have an appointment with the mirror, with the eyes of others, with the judgment that you still can't dodge. I'm too fat, I'm too thin, oh god those pads, but did you see what ears I have?

One by one you let words fall on you, you repeat them as if they were an obsession, they get inside you and start fighting with your latest attempt not to be dragged into a worse place elsewhere. It takes a moment, you know? To give way to those words to swallow you whole. To make sure that those lips of yours remain contracted downwards. The stern look of those who do not forgive themselves.

But there is really nothing to forgive. If there is someone you have to absolve from some fault it is certainly not you. Nor the others, I would tell you with certainty. Forget it and start to blossom, you have a whole life ahead of you.

Read also: Personality test: choose a matryoshka and discover a hidden trait of your character that you should value

On the web we stumbled upon a beautiful letter from 2016 that went viral again. To write it is a Spanish writer, author of illustrated albums and designer, Jessica Gomez. In her lines, Gomez addresses a girl in a green bathing suit sitting next to her on the beach. She, who is now an adult woman, realizes that that girl is there that she is suffering trying to hide in every way from the gaze of others.

From here he writes a wonderful letter, which is nothing more than an invitation to return to being what you are, without worrying about your body. Enjoy the reading:

I'm the woman on the towel next to me. The one who came with a boy and a girl. First of all, I want to tell you that I am having a very pleasant time close to you and your group of friends, in this little time when our spaces touch and your laughter, your transcendental conversations and the music of yours. stereos invade the air.

You know, I was a little surprised to realize that I don't know when in my life I went from being there to being here: from being the girl to being the "lady next door", from being the one who goes with. friends to be the one who goes with the kids.

But I am not writing to you for this. I am writing to you because I would like to tell you that I have noticed you. I saw you and I couldn't help but look at you.

I saw you being the last to undress.
I saw you stand behind the whole group, disguise, and take off your shirt when you thought no one was watching you. But I have seen you. I wasn't looking at you, but I saw you.

I saw you sit on the towel with a careful posture, covering your belly with your arms. I saw you put your hair behind your ears, lowering your head to grab it, perhaps so as not to move your arms from their well-studied "casual" position.
I saw you stand up to take a bath and swallow saliva, nervous, because you had to wait like this, standing, exposed, for your friend, and once again use your arms as a sarong to cover yourself: your stretch marks, your your flabbyness, your cellulite.
I saw you tormented because you could not cover everything together as you walked away from the group, hiding, as you did before to take off your shirt.
I don't know if your not being happy with yourself has anything to do with your friend, the one you were expecting to melt her long hair above her back which was missing only a pair of Victoria's Secret wings. And in the meantime you there, looking at the ground. Looking for a hiding place in yourself and from yourself.

AND I WOULD LIKE TO BE ABLE TO SAY SO MANY THINGS, DEAR GIRL WITH A GREEN SWIMSUIT ...

perhaps because I, before being the woman who comes with the children, was there, in your towel. I'd like to be able to tell you that I've actually been on your towel and your friend's. I was you and I was her. And now I am neither, or maybe I am both, and that if I could back down I would simply choose to enjoy life instead of worrying, or bragging, about things like which of the two towels I prefer to be in, yours or hers. .

I wish I could tell you that I saw you had a book in your purse, and that any womb that is now 16 will likely lose its clarity long before you lose your mind.

I would love to be able to tell you that you have a beautiful smile, and that it is a pity that you are so busy covering yourself that you don't have time to smile more.
I wish I could tell you that that body you seem to be ashamed of is beautiful just for being young, fuck! It is beautiful only because it is alive. To be the envelope of what you really are and to be able to accompany you in what you do.
I would like to tell you that maybe you could see yourself through the eyes of a woman over thirty because maybe then you would realize how much you deserve to be loved, even by yourself.
I would like to be able to tell you that the person who will one day truly love you will not love the person you are despite your body, but who will love your body: every curve, every line, every mole. He will love the unique and precious map that draws your body and if he doesn't, if he doesn't love you like that, then he doesn't deserve your love.

I would like to be able to tell you that, believe me, believe me, believe me, you are perfect as you are: sublime in your imperfections.

But what do I want to tell you, if I'm just the woman next to me? Although, you know what? I came with my daughter. She's the one in the pink costume, the one playing in the river and getting covered in sand. Today she only worried if the water was too cold. I can say nothing to you, dear girl in the green costume ... but everything, EVERYTHING, I will tell her.

And everything, EVERYTHING, I will also tell my son. Because this is how we all deserve to be loved. And that's how we should all love.

DEAR GIRL IN THE GREEN SWIMSUIT: I am the woman in the towel next to you. The one that has come with a child and a…

Posted by Jessica Gómez on Tuesday, July 5, 2016

Source: Jessica Gómez Facebook

Read also: