You're blooming lovely.

A few weekends ago, while at our cousin's house, I took a peek at a group photograph that had just been taken of me and a few of my cousins-in-law.

For reasons I don't fully understand, and before I'd even gotten a good look at the picture, I glanced at my image and said, "Ugh, I look fat."

One of the cousins said, "I ought to slap you," or something else insinuating I deserved a throttle.

After decrying my appearance, I got a closer look and thought, "Oh, wait, never mind, that's not bad."

Frankly, saying that I looked fat wasn't even accurate. "My teeth look big" (the better to eat carbs with, my dear) or "my hair doesn't look as voluminous as I thought it did" would have been more accurate, if accurate self-insults are important.

It's no big secret that women--heck, most of us in this country are image obsessed, and I'm no exception. It's also no secret that putting yourself down has become de rigueur. I'm reminded of that scene in Mean Girls where the mean girls are going over all their flaws in the mirror as a sort of bonding exercise. "My hairline is soo weird." The new girl, not familiar with this form of required self-flagellation, offers up that her breath smells bad in the morning, not knowing that's the wrong kind of insult. It should have been about her appearance, and something she can do nothing about would have been best.

I later reflected on my Mean Girls moment. Why did I mindlessly, almost as an automatic reflex, insult myself? And why did I keep my mental back-tracking on my insult to myself? I wouldn't let someone else talk to me like that, so why in the world would I do it to myself?

That realization left me feeling very ashamed of my behavior, very uncomfortable. I think God was scolding me. No, seriously. My heart would shudder if my child found something ugly about herself (because she is PERFECT IN ALL WAYS). How much more, then, does it hurt the heart of the Being who IS love, and loves us more than we can even fathom?

My guess: He ain't thrilled with it.

Obviously I'm not the first person who has had this particular flash of brilliance. (What?! It's not good to speak poorly of yourself?! You may send my Nobel Peace Prize to my home address.)

Rather than enlightening you to a whole new world of inner peace and hightened awareness of your aura (or whatever), my purpose in writing this is to declare--because declarations pack a punch!--that I will no longer use hateful language about myself.

For starters, if we can get down to brass tacks, I know I'm not ugly. Am I the prettiest girl in the room?

Well, at the moment, yes. But I'm alone, so I automatically win.

But out in the real world? Doubtful that I am. But I am the prettiest ME in the room. And you're the prettiest YOU.

Lately I've caught myself saying to, well, myself, "Ugh! Stupid. You should have [x] instead of [y]." No more. I'm not stupid. Maybe I wasn't paying attention, but I'm no dummy. I can say, uh, smart things, and I have, uh, ideas and stuff.

I saw a quote on facebook that I love (and I usually roll my eyes at "inspirational quotes" on facebook--save it for a kitten poster in your office, okay?) that goes a little something like this:
 
 
A flower doesn't think of competing with the flower next to it. It just blooms.
 
Can I get an Amen?!
 
I'm going to try to be a flower. (A hydrangea bloom, just for the record. One of those purpley-blue ones.)  I'm going to just bloom. It's not about believing I'm the most beautiful flower or the best smelling flower or the flower that attracts the prettiest butterflies. It's just about being who I am, but the best version of me. Not perfect, because that's never going to happen. Just me, at my best.
 
And you just be you, at your best.
 
And we'll all be friends who have to find something else to talk about besides our doughnut tops and cottage cheese thighs.
 
Self-respect, love, and the personification of flowers to you and yours,
xo


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