She wears her scars like wings-not because she is unbroken,but she learned how to fly with them.

                                                             What Makes Me Beautiful?

I’ve asked myself this question more times than I can count. Some days, I ask it with soft curiosity. Other days, I ask it through tears, standing in front of a mirror that reflects more than just skin and bone — it reflects pain, change, and memories of who I used to be.

Living with fibromyalgia has left behind so many scars, some visible and others deeply tucked away. The physical ones remind me of the procedures, the treatments, the flares that stole entire weeks from me. The emotional ones? They’re harder to explain. They’re the parts of me that quietly mourn what I once thought my life would be — the freedom, the ease, the energy.

And yet, here I am. Still standing. Still showing up.

I used to define beauty by smooth skin, flat stomachs, and glowing energy. I used to see strength only in people who ran marathons, not those who measured victories by getting out of bed or taking a shower. But chronic illness has rewritten that script for me — in a way that has hurt, yes, but also healed me in the deepest of ways.

What makes me beautiful now is different.

It’s the way I’ve learned to listen to my body, even when I don’t like what it’s saying.

It’s in my softness — in the way I hold space for others because I know what it feels like to suffer in silence.

It’s in my resilience — not the kind that roars, but the kind that whispers, “Rest now. Try again tomorrow.”

It’s in the way I still laugh. Still love. Still hope.

It’s in the way I’ve transformed survival into something that looks a little like art.

Some days, I don’t feel beautiful at all. On those days, I try not to fight the feeling. I remind myself that beauty isn’t a constant glow — it’s a flicker that sometimes needs time to reignite. And when I feel like I’m too much or not enough, I think of the people who love me — who see me beyond my illness, who recognize my heart and call it beautiful.

So yes, fibromyalgia has left behind scars — but it’s also uncovered a kind of beauty I never expected to find. A beauty that’s patient. That’s raw. That’s real.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the kind of beauty that matters most.

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