It's not the first time I've read Pretty Ugly by Abdullah Shoaib, yet each time it surfaces, my emotional reaction surprises me all over again. It’s like a gentle but firm wave shifting my perspective, effortlessly reaching into that familiar space of doubt: “Are you sure you're good enough?”—the fear of rejection, the discomfort (sometimes mild, sometimes deep) in my own skin.
When I read it top-to-bottom, I still sense that lingering echo, the familiar sinking feeling—questioning my worth, wondering if I'm truly enough. It's raw. It's painful. Despite how much I’ve grown and how many of these doubts I've worked through, this old narrative occasionally resurfaces, and this poem gently but firmly excavates those feelings. I pause, sit back and ground myself. I’m back -I’m okay. I am enough.
Then, flipping it bottom-to-top, it hits me again, differently this time. I can hardly get past the opening lines without feeling deep sadness and anger. The cruelty, the bullying—especially today’s cyberbullying—it's heartbreaking and almost incomprehensible. Yet, so real in its existence. Initially, it feels like someone painfully trying to convince themselves they deserve love and kindness. But as I continue, the voice shifts powerfully and assertively: "Yes, you DO deserve love. Yes, you ARE beautiful and worthy!" That strong, affirming voice speaks loudly to me now.
It’s incredible how the same words can deliver such opposite messages, purely depending on how you read them.
Perspective matters. Words matter. Our narratives matter. And yes, we ARE enough.
But here's the tricky part—no matter how you flip it, there’s always someone trying to convince someone else of their ugliness. Whether it's trying to believe it yourself, or trying to prove to others that you’re beautiful and worthy, the conflict remains. That tension—between our self-image and how we think the world sees us—is something most of us carry around quietly but rarely pause to untangle.
How much of the voice inside my head is really mine? We internalise voices from our childhood—parents, teachers, friends, media—that shape our inner dialogue. Perhaps the harsh internal voice criticising us isn't truly ours at all; maybe it was borrowed from an offhand comment, unrealistic social media standards, or even just a cruel glance.
Social media particularly reinforces this dynamic. We see perfectly filtered selfies, flawless skin routines, ideas of what "real" masculinity is supposed to look like, with the 'always strong, never soft' messaging, and seemingly perfect lives. These polished portrayals can affect all of us. It’s surprisingly easy, even for someone generally confident and grounded, to begin questioning their own sense of being "good enough" just because they don’t have it all together all the time in a perfectly arranged picture frame (and really, what does that even mean?).
Why do we let shifting beauty standards, harmful labels, or hateful comments dictate our worth? If these are the measures we use to determine our value, will the invisible judges inside our heads ever be fully satisfied? Or perhaps, can we begin to give ourselves permission to accept who we are and know that we are enough?
That doesn’t mean ignoring the parts of us that want growth. It means being kind enough to explore the areas we genuinely want to work on and change, what’s not working (anymore), understanding why, and setting changes that come from self-care and desire to grow - not self-criticism.
Realistic, healthy change starts with acceptance, not pressure.
The inner critic isn’t the enemy. It doesn’t need to be eradicated—it has value, and it has a place. It’s more about the volume and tone it takes. We all need that internal voice in moderation. Without it, life could be chaos. After all, it’s often the one inviting us to check in:
“Did you do enough? Are you being honest with yourself? Are you being true to yourself? Are you treating your loved ones right? Did you do the best you could to get that job, prepare for that test? Do you want or need to grow, where and how?”
And sometimes, the answer is yes—and we move forward consciously. Other times, the answer is no—and that's okay too.
What if we flipped the script, just like the poem—not to silence the critic, but to get curious with it? What if we used it to help us identify what’s not working right now, created space for both acceptance and growth, and worked gently with it? With that, the critic itself would get softer, kinder. Let’s choose a perspective rooted in choice and kindness.
So what about you? Have you ever noticed a voice in your head that didn't quite feel like your own? A thought, a standard, a pressure that snuck in and settled quietly? What would it feel like to meet that voice with curiosity instead of judgment—to soften it, to question it, or even to rewrite it entirely?
For me, this poem is a powerful reminder, a gentle yet firm call, to challenge negative messages, shift perspectives, and reclaim the inner voice. Because at the end of the day, the most important voice in our heads should always be our own and let’s ensure it’s a kind one.
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