Attractive = worthy?

Caught painfully in the middle of a few competing, unchangeable, extreme beliefs that stand in the way of personal progress. How to resolve? 

Belief 1) Being attractive is just about the most important thing in life. People who aren't attractive are less worthy as people. (I'm not happy about this belief. It's something I soaked in from my stepmom.)

Belief 2) I am amazingly unattractive. (When I was growing up, I believed I was actually frightening people when they looked at me and tried to keep my face hidden. Now I know I'm neutral/medium -- not especially attractive, not scarily unattractive.)

The problem: As I make so much lovely progress on self-acceptance in so many ways, letting go of the baggage of feeling not smart enough, not fun enough, not interesting enough, not motivated enough, etc., etc., etc., I'm facing one that's especially painful: the attractiveness thing. 

Enter problem belief 3) It is wrong to believe that you are attractive, whether you are or are not. Vain people are unpleasant and shallow and I want no part of it. What's important is the inside. I don't want people (including me) to pay attention to the outside.

If I accept my appearance to let go of that pain, that means I need to think I'm reasonably attractive. Can't do that. If I accept that I need to do this so I can feel fully worthy, that means my stepmom was right. Can't do that. 

I feel trapped, stuck, miserable. I really, really don't want to focus on appearance -- mine or anyone else's.  I want to believe I'm really attractive, but I don't believe it, and it would be wrong anyway.  

Help. This may seem minor, but it is causing me a great deal of pain and stress and I want to move past it. 

Dumb things I've done #232

I believe I have the distinction of having done many dumb things that are unduplicated by humankind. Here's one that comes to mind.

Setting: Middle of the night, bedroom, dark.

Activity: Lingering sore throat has me reaching for the soothing, fluorescent-orange throat spray at all hours, including this memorable moment. Why didn't I just leave it on the bedside table?

Dumb thing: In the dark, I go to the dresser drawer where I store a large, unusually unrelated assortment of things. Among them: throat-spray bottle, leather-waterproofing-spray bottle. 

Guess which one I spray into my aching throat? Guess how it then feels.

The Nap Coach

Ginger the orange cat has a job she takes very seriously. She's a Nap Coach. When she senses a nap beginning anywhere in the house, she's there to make sure things are done right. 

She'll begin by lying on your chest, up close to your face. She's heavy. You're not going anywhere. Paw outstretched so it's next to your face, she mindmelds you, "Now, you've got to want this. Focus. Be the nap." Heavy, rhythmic purring helps you understand that this is serious and it's going to take some time. 

If, after some time with her heaviness compressing your chest, you haven't fallen asleep and want to readjust to your side, she's ready to lead that attempt, too, by planting herself on your hip. If you're not showing much promise, still trying to get the knack, and it's stomach-side-down you want, she's not giving up on you -- it goes without saying that she's got your back. Finally, after she feels she's been there for you, on you, for a sufficient amount of time, it's graduation time. She'll move up to the back of the couch, silent, close by, supervising, ready to get right back on your chest if you show signs of getting up. 

Long live Ginger, professional Nap Coach.

Let's give it a whirl

This is only a test. Should it have been an actual posting, you would have been instructed to read (okay, skim), engage and marvel at the wisdom and hilarity herein. 

But I can feel the extreme thrill already. As though I believe my random inklings should be considered by anyone besides me. Odditus maximus. 

Note: Thanks to my dearest friend Mauritania, for naming me Mallorca, which was already taken as a blog name by some German guy (Go figure. How is he more rightly Mallorca than me?) Y tu amiga soy yo.