As Bella ripped the false lash from her eyelid, a hot salty tear slid down her cheek. An avalanche of smoky mascara followed in pursuit. Flannel in hand she began to scrub the orange skin on her face, enraged she ever thought she needed to be the colour of a carrot. Looking down at the cracks in her ornate gel nails, her anger flipped to exhaustion.
Bella Blossom had had Enough. What exactly had tipped her to this point, she couldn’t say. Maybe it was realising that it took her two hours to be ready for a night out. While Craig (her increasingly inattentive situationship), had a quick shower, shaved, pulled on jeans and a fairly clean t-shirt and was ‘good to go’? Maybe it was the comments from her co-workers that she looked ‘unwell’ when she went to the office sans make up. Perhaps it was the sting of the Botox needle as it jabbed at her tender temples? Or the influencers on her Instagram feed with their glass skin and effortless abs that made her feel Never Enough? Or possibly her month to month pay check existence from a tiresome real estate job. Bella even cursed her name that linked her identity to her appearance.
Three Months Later
Bella looked down at her fingernails, now healthy pink tipped with white. No traces of chemical gel and treated simply with coconut oil. Her once a day check in the mirror revealed glossy bouncy hair, albeit two toned as she grew out her roots. Some people pay a lot for the dip dye look she thought. It had taken a while for her to get used to a face that revealed her emotions, lips that were no longer plumped and an ivory skin tone that reflected her Celtic roots. The less she meddled with her appearance, the more she felt like herself.
Bella also benefited from increased energy, that she used to concentrate on her values. Progress, however, was not linear. Some days her hand hovered over her mobile as she resisted reinstalling Instagram. If she spent too long staring in the mirror, the thought returned: just a little tweakment wouldn’t hurt. And every so often she missed the quick rush of confidence that came from compliments on her appearance.
Her social conscience began to emerge in layers – volunteering at the local food bank, taking part in beach cleans and mentoring looked after teenagers in the care system.
After years of scraping by financially, her cancelled cosmetic treatments unlocked a surprising ability to save. At last check Bella’s wittily named ‘Beauty Duty’ savings account was accumulating at a pleasing rate.
Following a long day showing clients around a soulless new estate, followed by a restock session at the food bank, Bella opened a webpage she had bookmarked for years.
She reread the course overview for BSc Social Work, lingered for what felt like minutes but was actually a split second, and clicked apply.
