postpartum body image.

Let’s call this blog post a victory lap, shall we?

At two weeks postpartum, I’m in a very awkward stage as far as my body goes. I can’t fit into my pre-pregnancy pants yet, but my maternity pants are just a bit too baggy. Similarly, the number on the scale is considerably smaller than it was two weeks ago, but it’s still one that I’ve only ever seen since becoming pregnant.

The Lindsay from several years ago would probably be crippled by depression over this. She would most likely be missing out on all the wonderful blessings surrounding her newborn boy because she’d be too concerned about dropping the baby weight as fast as possible. And she’d definitely be completely inconsolable over her ridiculous new bra size. (For the record, I still have no idea what my actual bra size is. Thanks, nursing sports bras! You’re the best!)

But no. Not anymore.

I’d argue that, if anything, pregnancy has taken my body image and radically transformed it into something magnificent. Sure, my midsection is as soft as a pile of bread dough and is decorated by a couple of new stripes. And maybe I’m not entirely sure what “size” I am anymore. And let’s not get started on what my BMI says about me at present.

BUT…

As completely cliche as it sounds, I’ve never loved my body more than I do right now. Here’s why:

1. my body built a life.

Every time I look at my son — my beautiful, perfect, angelic son — I am in complete awe. My body is the instrument God used to create my sweet baby boy. It’s a true miracle, really.

2. my body sustains that life.

All I have to do in order to make sure my baby is fed is stick him to my boob. Bam. Fed.

(Also, to drive this point home, watch Jim Gaffigan’s stand up special called “Mr. Universe”. It’s on Netflix.)

3. i’ve never felt more loved.

Okay, so maybe it’s true that my two-week-old baby doesn’t really give a crap whether or not I have horns, so long as I feed him every two hours and change his diaper as needed. BUT BUT BUT it’s really nice to feel so loved, no matter what my body looks like. My son couldn’t care less if I ever lose the baby weight — or grow horns — he just wants me to be near.

4. for the first time in my life, i’m letting myself be loved.

Not just by my son, but by my husband and my friends and my family, too. For the first time since I can remember, I’m consciously letting myself be loved, without asking “why” or “how” or anything, just because I am me. Not because I look a certain way — because that “certain way” is definitely NOT what I look like right now, and I might never again — but because I simply am. Because I am a wife. Because I am Mommy. Because I am a friend. Because I am family. I am loved and that’s the end of that.

In today’s society, I think that too much pressure is put on new moms to get back to their pre-pregnancy form as soon as possible. What with celebrities like Beyonce gracing the front covers of magazines mere weeks after giving birth, it’s easy for new moms to feel insecure about their so-called ravaged bodies. But as for me, someone who has a past that is pock-marked by disordered eating, I refuse to fall victim to that.

There is nothing — I repeat, nothing — in this world that I have done that holds a candle to carrying my healthy, perfect, wonderful baby boy to term and giving birth to him. Nothing. And if I’m a bit pudgy and stretch-marky afterward? Let it be. I couldn’t be more proud of my body and the miracles it is capable of.

Put that in your beauty-obsessed pipe and smoke it.

a “real” mid-life crisis.

Yesterday, CNN posted an interesting article about a lady named Diane Butrym. Diane, like many women, suffers from an eating disorder. Her story, however, is actually quite unique.

You see, she hasn’t been struggling with this since she was a child or teenager, like most of us do. She went half of her life eating-disorder free. She actually fell victim to the disease in her forties.

According to the article, the disorder was triggered by a series of health diagnoses and injuries, forcing her to back off from her once very active lifestyle. And so, presumably terrified of the ramifications of her body changing, she became consumed with ED.

I suppose the reason the article exists is because of the story’s novelty. Even though I’m someone whom I’d venture to say is pretty educated on the subject, this is the first I’ve heard of someone going through this at a stage in her life when she’s supposed to “have it all figured out”.

So. This begs the question: did she always have these tendencies? Or were they born simply out of the loss of “control” over her body?

The answer to that question doesn’t matter. The reality is that the eating disorder epidemic is way bigger than I think any of us could have imagined and, something (perhaps lots of somethings) is perpetuating it. To walk around complacent, going about our business as if nothing is wrong, is just as detrimental as the oppressive beauty standards in this country, if not more so.

Honestly, I feel like I can kind of relate with Diane. This week, I am entering my ninth month of pregnancy. Pregnancy, you could argue, is a “diagnosis” of sorts. (Granted, there’s  been nothing bad or complicated about this pregnancy, praise God, but you know what I mean. It is a “change” that will leave my body in a much different state than it was pre-“diagnosis”.)

The other day, I looked at my husband, whose weight is currently only eight pounds heavier than mine. With terror in my eyes I admitted, “I might weigh the same as you soon. Please don’t judge me.”
“Why would I ever judge you for gaining weight while pregnant with my son?”
“Because. It’s such a big number.”
“When have I ever cared about how much you weigh?”

He’s never cared. But as as I near my due date, I’ve subconsciously started panicking over ways I can shed the baby weight as fast and as effectively as possible after I give birth. Images of Beyonce and Jennifer Lopez and Jessica Simpson and Mariah Carey flash across my brain and I’m wracked with the reality that I’ll never look the way I did before I got pregnant, let alone as amazing as these celebrities do mere weeks after leaving the delivery room. I find myself thinking astronomical things, unattainable things, things I might never think if I lived on an island, completely devoid of any Photoshopped images of supermodels or celebrities in bikinis.

Maybe if I try X diet. Or eat Y way. Or be sure to exercise Z times a day. Maybe then I can shed the baby weight before I go back to work. Or in two weeks. Let’s shoot for two weeks. 

Because I know I’m prone to disordered eating and the thoughts that come along with it, I’ve been disciplined in asking for prayer and support from close friends during that transition time. But my heart goes out to Diane, and other people (not just women) who may find themselves in that situation. Older, supposedly wiser, yet still waking up to the dark sound of an eating disorder within their heads, trapping them in webs of self-loathing and lies.

What if Diane was on that island, devoid of pop culture and beauty standards? Would she still be suffering from this disorder? I’d bet no.

No one, especially Diane, will benefit from this unless we speak up and out about it. If we keep drawing attention to this problem, hopefully we can eventually stop it. It may seem futile, like trying to derail a mile-long freight train, but I believe it’s worth it.

Never stop telling those around you how precious and beautiful they are just as God made them. Scars and all. Diagnoses and all. Flaws and all. And, even more importantly, never stop telling yourself that.

As for me, I’m going to start by telling my big, round belly how wonderful and life-giving it is and how the number on the scale has no power over me, or my worth, or my happiness. My body is doing exactly what it’s supposed to do. My son is healthy and strong and I can’t wait for my body’s grand finale — miraculously giving him to the world.

Have you ever found yourself in a similar situation? Suddenly thinking unhealthy thoughts or committing unhealthy actions that you’ve never experienced before, triggered by a huge change in life?

guest post: WOW wednesday on m2hf.

All throughout the month of May, my good friend Lindsey is asking “Women of Wisdom” to write guest posts on her blog each Wednesday. I’m honored to be one of the people she asked to contribute. Today, my post is up on her blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

…There are certainly two ways you can gain wisdom – you can live through some “real stuff” and you can surround yourself with and try to learn from those whom have lived through some “real stuff.”

Even though I’m only 26, I’ve already had to live through some pretty intense stuff: growing up with an absentee father, suffering from an eating disorder, being treated for mental illness… But, I think, the hardest piece of life I ever had to live was two and a half years of an abusive relationship. I couldn’t get out of it because I was afraid I’d get even more hurt than I already was on a daily basis. So I stayed. And it was awful.

Click here to read the rest of the post. And don’t forget to check out the rest of her blog as well!

Happy WOW Wednesday!

the body image avenger.

A little over a week ago, I went with my husband on opening night to see The Avengers. Despite not giving two craps about the comic books, or the characters therein, I still thoroughly enjoyed the film. The writing was punchy and smart, and, for those of us who have no back story to go on, it was easy to follow. Partner that with phenomenal special effects and a conceited yet endearing Robert Downey Jr. spouting off one quip after another? Magnifique.

I will say, however, that at 7 months pregnant and growing, with a steadily shrinking wardrobe, a face that has exploded with zits, and hair that refuses to be anything but unruly frizz, it was difficult for me to spend two and a half hours staring at the immaculately gorgeous Scarlett Johansson, next to my husband who has publicly admired her beauty in the past. While I tried to focus on the movie, my thoughts kept interrupting me:

Is he looking at her? Does he still think she’s hotter than me? Of course he still thinks she’s hotter than me! She IS hotter than me! She’s Scarlett F—ing Johansson! And I’m a big, chubby pregnant slob! I’m pretty sure angels sing when she wakes up in the morning. Angels who, undoubtedly, have pictures of Scarlett hanging on their walls. Angels do not have pictures of me hanging on their walls. If they do, it’s only as a visual reminder for them to talk to God about arranging my appearance on TLC’S “What Not to Wear.” You know… as a favor to me.

You’d think it would be easy for me to hate Scarlett because of all of this. Wish she never existed and all that. But the truth of the matter is, I think she’s just as bloody beautiful as everyone else on the planet thinks she is. And, today, she proved to me that she’s more than just a knock out.

Damnit, you guys. Scarlett’s sharp. She’s intelligent, a self-proclaimed body image warrior, and a fantastic writer to boot.

Touche, Johansson. Tou-freaking-che. You are a superhero, aren’t you? How can I ever measure up?

Anyway.

Scarlett wrote an article for the Huffington Post in response to tabloids making (wait for it) outlandish claims (gasp! who knew?!) concerning her body and weight loss in preparation for The Avengers. The article is bloody brilliant and should be read by everyone. Here’s an excerpt:

Since dedicating myself to getting into “superhero shape,” several articles regarding my weight have been brought to my attention. Claims have been made that I’ve been on a strict workout routine regulated by co-stars, whipped into shape by trainers I’ve never met, eating sprouted grains I can’t pronounce and ultimately losing 14 pounds off my 5’3″ frame. Losing 14 pounds out of necessity in order to live a healthier life is a huge victory. I’m a petite person to begin with, so the idea of my losing this amount of weight is utter lunacy. If I were to lose 14 pounds, I’d have to part with both arms. And a foot. I’m frustrated with the irresponsibility of tabloid media who sell the public ideas about what we should look like and how we should get there.

Check out the rest of the article here.

brb changing career path to become scarlett johansson when i grow up kthx.

guest post: on growth.

Growing is supposed to hurt. That’s why you get growing “pains” not growing “tickles.” I’ve done a lot of growing over the past couple of years (a lot of it, thankfully, has been documented right here on my blog) and, consequently, a lot of hurting as well. I’m certainly not anywhere near done with it yet, either, but that’s okay. It’s all for the glory, right?

My friend and mentor, Eric Case, asked me to share a little bit about my story of growth on his blog. It scared me a little bit because a lot of my story is quite messy, but I agreed to it because the writing is a raw, visual, concrete representation of just how far I’ve come.

Here’s an excerpt:

“Why are you doing this again?”

The words shot out of my mouth like ping pong balls and bounced against the windshield and hit me in the face. Despite the eating disorder treatment under my belt and its offering of some false sense of normalcy, I was still suffering from a disease much more deteriorating. Complete and utter self-hate.

I was sitting in my car, parked about a block from my house and my new husband, with hot tears running down my cheeks.

I’d run away from him again. This time, however, after telling him he would divorce me if he knew what was good for him. Not even a year into our marriage and I had slapped the “d” word across his face and left.

Check out the rest of the post here

Also, Eric is a very intelligent dude. For posts that will challenge you, make you think differently about the world around you, and probably help you realize that the music library on your iPod needs a face lift, read his blog here.

beauty and torture.

The other day I was putting on make up in front of my husband. Usually I don’t do that because Dan hates when I wear makeup, so I like to keep up the guise that I don’t actually wear it by waiting until I’m alone to put on just a tad of concealer to cover my blemishes. But this time, we were both getting ready for an event we were going to together, so I had to lift the veil.

As I was taking the eyelash curler to my lids, I had some interesting thoughts to myself:

This kind of looks like a torture device. I wonder if Dan, or any other male who is unfamiliar with such an apparatus, thinks I’m torturing myself? 

Wait. As a matter of fact, curling my eyelashes IS pretty bizarre, whether it looks so or not. These little hairs aren’t even an inch long. Does anyone notice whether I use the curler or not? Come to think of it, if I catch my eyelid at just the WRONG angle, it absolutely IS torture! I’m torturing myself! Ah!

Why do we do such strange things to ourselves in the name of beauty?

Today I stumbled across something on the Internet that takes the torture-for-beauty cake (and doesn’t eat it, apparently):

Image via The Daily What

(From TDW) Disturbing Trend of the Day: In a last-gasp attempt to fit into the THE DRESS, desperate brides-to-be in the U.S. (like Jessica Schnaider, pictured) can now have a feeding tube inserted into their nose that provides a drip of liquid protein and fat (with no carbohydrates) through the esophagus into the stomach. The $1,500, 10-day treatment is effective: The tube delivers just 800 calories a day, and generally results in the loss of at least 10 percent of body weight — and perfect wedding pictures. But… ew?

This makes me so sad. And hurt. And angry. Mostly, though, it makes me want to put my two weeks’ notice in on life on this earth.

I think about all my close friends whom have gotten married recently. I think about my close friends who are talking about getting married soon. I think about my wedding almost three years ago. And my heart breaks into a thousand pieces just imagining any of them literally torturing themselves like this before the happiest day of their lives.

I never watch the show Mike & Molly, but last night it was on while Dan and I were doing chores. The subject matter of last night’s episode was Molly being on an unhealthy juice fast in order to drop several pounds in three weeks to fit into her wedding dress. Sigh. Granted, the moral of the episode was that what Molly was doing was turning her into a crazy person, not at all the person that Mike wanted to marry, but still — the mere fact that this was portrayed on television at all puts the idea into girls’ heads that you can’t possibly wear a wedding dress without obsessing over your weight first. And oh, ha ha ha, it’s a comedy, so let’s all laugh at how silly it is instead of talking about how serious and disturbing it is. Oh ha ha ha, CBS, you’re hilarious.

So how did we get here? How did we get from ha ha ha, silly sit coms about overweight people, to bloody feeding tubes?! Are you kidding me? When will the insanity stop?

Why, oh why, are we perpetuating this? Why are we continually sending out messages that this type of behavior is acceptable and normal? WAKE UP, WORLD. THIS ISN’T OKAY.

I have no more words to offer. Instead, here’s Internet phenom Jenna Marbles on diets, F words and all. Enjoy.

ashley judd 1, the media 0.

Image via The Daily Beast

You may have already stumbled across the piece that actress Ashley Judd wrote in response to the media criticizing her “puffy face” and making the public assertion that she’d had “work done.” However, if you haven’t, I highly suggest you take the time to read it. It’s definitely worth it.

While I’m usually the first person to be up in arms over the media saying preposterous, body-policing things like this (much like the recent accusations that Jennifer Lawrence is “too big” to play Katniss Everdeen) I usually forget to even consider how the celebrity in question feels. Even worse than that, sometimes I even find myself flippantly making damning comments like this one. Ugh. Shame on me.

Whether they’re celebrities or not, they’re still people. They’re still living, breathing, human beings, fearfully and wonderfully made, and their looks are not the end-all be-all of their worth.

And for Christ’s sake, just because a woman’s face has changed shape over the years does NOT mean she’s had work done. Unless you consider aging naturally “getting work done” then by all means, STFU.

Read Ashley’s killer response here.

tuesday tip — finding your sexy when you’re ______.

Disclaimer: So, this is my blog, after all. And this is the stuff I’m currently struggling through. If reading it makes you feel weird, sorry. You don’t have to read it. I won’t be offended.

The other day I came across this fabulous article that pretty much sums up every thing I’ve been struggling with lately as far as body image and self-love goes. If you don’t have time to read it, the title speaks for itself:

Who gets to be sexy? Is it me?

I’ve kind of touched on the subject before here and here but, sadly, I currently don’t feel like I’m one of those people who “gets” to be sexy. My husband and I have had several conversations recently (even creating a document about the mental blocks I have and the steps I need to take to overcome them) to try and get to the root of this problem (including, but not limited to: my past, including my ex who sexually abused me, my history with my eating disorder, etc.) and while these reasons are valid, I’m sick of them.

In my head, I think, I’ve always assumed that once I hit certain self-proclaimed milestones then (and only then) could I “get” to be sexy.

  • When I reach my goal weight.
  • When my face finally stops breaking out.
  • When I can figure out how to apply make up and not look like a circus clown.
  • When I learn how to properly curl my hair.
  • When I…
My husband, who is so sweet and wonderful and always trying to help, brought something to my attention the other day:
Dan: “Did you see the lady in front of us in line at Wal-Mart?”
Me: “No.”
Dan: “Oh. Well. She was at least double your size everywhere and was buying lingerie. I thought that if she could do it, you could, too.”
Under normal circumstances, I would have probably considered the legitimacy of his observation. But because I’m hormonal and crazy, I went home, drew myself a bath, and cried in it for an hour.
It seems like it’s only getting worse for me as I get rounder. This is probably shocking to you, but feeling sexy while pregnant is proving to be almost impossible for me. I know, I know. I didn’t see that one coming, either. Lindsay can’t feel sexy when she’s not pregnant? What do you mean she can’t feel sexy when she is? *Heavy eye roll.*

I’ve been searching for ways to try and rectify this. Really, the only solution I’ve come up with is only letting my husband touch me in the morning when it’s still dark since, at that point, I haven’t spent an entire day staring at my gigantic belly and focusing on how “matronly” and “not-sexy” it is.

But then (of course, while I’m struggling with this) Jessica Simpson (who has been pregnant for roughly three years it feels like) comes out totally butt naked on the cover of Elle like she owns the joint. And my husband goes ahead and says that it’s sexy.

Ugh. 

Okay, world. I get it. It’s possible to be sexy while overweight. And it’s possible to be sexy while pregnant. So why am I still completely lacking in this department?

Oh that’s right — because the problem isn’t my body; it’s my mind.

TODAY’S SELF-LOVE TIP: FINDING YOUR SEXY WHEN YOU’RE ______.

I know not all of you are pregnant. And I know that not all of you struggle with “sexiness” in particular. But maybe it’s confidence. Maybe it’s spark. Maybe it’s being outgoing. But, if you’re like me, and you have this little part inside you that, for whatever reason, can’t come out because you’re currently _____ (fill in the blank for whatever that is: pregnant, over your goal weight, not making enough money, whatever) I’m here to tell you that your circumstance is not your problem.

It’s your mind.

I don’t have all the answers on how to change your mind (because if I did, let’s be honest, I wouldn’t have this blog) but here are some things that have worked for me so far:

1. be intentional.

Make an effort. When you think to yourself that you can’t be sexy, just think immediately afterwards, “That’s not true. I can be and am sexy.” It will be awkward and weird at first. But be intentional about it.

2. be persistent.

You can’t change your paradigm overnight. It will take some time. Commit to it because, in the end, it will be so worth it (or so I think).

3. be patient.

With yourself! Know that some days, you’ll be on fire. You’ll be a sex goddess, even! But know that, even still, there will be some days when you feel frumpy and gross and some innocent Wal-Mart shopper is gonna show up at the register with cute lingerie and make you cry in a bathtub and you’re just going to have to let that be okay.

What is your “sexy” that you’re striving toward? Please don’t say I’m alone in this!

the reality is…

Can I tell you something embarrassing? Like, really embarrassing.

I watch a lot of reality television.

Phew. There, I said it. It feels good to get that off my chest.

And, mind you, I don’t watch good  reality television, if there even is such a thing. I watch the worst reality television I can lay my eyes on.

When I was in college, my roommates and I would build our weekly schedules around Flavor of Love and Charm School. Now, my husband and I plop ourselves in front of the couch each Wednesday (or, at least we did until last week’s finale episode) to agonize over the goings-on in America’s Next Top Model. Pleh.

The results of me and my roommates consuming the former were mind-numbing at best, character-damaging at worst. If I was lucky, I’d turn off the TV after watching those shows and feel moderately entertained and then I’d walk my happy self to my bedroom to finish studying or doing homework or any other productive activity. On the flip side, if I wasn’t so fortunate, I’d find myself audibly judging the people on TV as if I knew them in real life and really hated them.

I can’t speak for Dan, but the result of me watching ANTM is equally as disappointing — either I turn off the TV and silently vow to never eat again until I can score a modeling career before I turn 27 because “Dominique did it and has two kids and STILL looks better than me! I’m such a failure!” or I yell at the screen about how “stupid/annoying/ugly/lame/obnoxious” the girls are and, sometimes, even about how much I actually loathe them. (Sorry, Alexandria. You got the brunt of my hate. Oh, and Lisa? Girlfriend, no one wanted you to win. Sorry. Everyone wanted Allison to win. It’s alright, boo. Keep those obnoxiously reflective hater blockers on and tell us all to shove it.)

I didn’t see the problem before, but now, it’s painfully obvious and makes me cringe.

Because Dan and I will be parents one day, I’ve started really thinking about the types of media we consume. Not only reality television, but all the TV we choose to watch. And the movies. And the music we listen to. The video games we play. The magazines we read. Everything. Could it possibly be harmful to us? Or, an even more disturbing thought, could us consuming this stuff be harmful to our children? (Of course not in a “drinking a bottle of wine each night when you’re pregnant” way, but in a “Sorry sweetie, Mommy can’t tuck you in tonight because the finale for ANTM is on and I’m pretty sure there are going to be girls crying and fighting and cussing at the producers and you know I love seeing pretty and skinny girls in anguish, yippee!” way.)

But wait! Some good news! A close friend of mine sent me this article from the Discovery Channel which states that, according to a recent study, reality TV isn’t as harmful to people, particularly to young girls, as I had previously thought. Here are some interesting nuggets from the article:

Seventy-five percent of surveyed girls said the programs have inspired conversations with their parents and friends. Some girls even said they take inspiration from the shows, with 68 percent agreeing with the statement that the shows “make me think I can achieve anything in life,” while 62 percent said the shows have “raised their awareness of social issues and causes.”

Besides the suprising findings on the positive influence of reality TV, the survey found image may not be as critical in teen girls’ minds as expected.

The majority of girls in both groups reported that they did not think a girl’s value is based on how she looks. Sixty-two percent of reality TV viewers (and 72 percent of nonviewers) responded “No” to a question asking, “Do you think a girl’s value is based on how she looks?”

Thus only 28 percent of nonviewers (which represents most teens) say a girl’s value is based on how she looks, and (perhaps even more surprisingly given appearance-oriented reality TV shows) only 38 percent of reality TV viewers endorse that “beauty myth” idea. That most girls reject the idea that their value is based on their appearance is encouraging news.

Now, as excited as that news makes me, I don’t know that I’m completely sold. In my own personal life, I feel as though reality TV has damaged my character somewhat, even despite my acknowledgment of its poor value. I’m curious to know what the girls would have said if the question on the survey was, “Do you think SOCIETY values girls because of their looks?” It’s true that the fact that these girls don’t think their value lies within their appearances is undoubtedly encouraging. But I thought that at one point too and, at the same time I also thought, “But, even still, society will never find me beautiful and so it doesn’t really matter what I think.”

Sigh.

Despite the findings of this survey, young girls (and boys!) are being diagnosed with eating disorders younger and younger each year (see this story on CNN) while the consumption of all media (not just reality television, though that is certainly included) is steadily on the rise.  So, while the article makes some hopeful points, I have to consider the source. Not only does Discovery Channel have its very own set of reality programming, it is also owned by Discovery Communications. DC also owns several other networks, most notably TLC, which showcases such gems as Say Yes to the Dress and, my personal favorite, Say Yes to the Dress: Big Bliss.

I’m not saying I think the study is totally bogus. I have a lot of faith in people and trust pretty much everything I read, hear, or see. (It’s what got me into this mess in the first place, I reckon.) But I do believe it offers up some good points about how to put these programs into perspective and have real, honest conversations about them with people, especially young children. And that is supremely valuable.

How do you feel about reality television and girls’ self images?

tuesday tip — mirrors don’t know you.

Today, one of my friends messaged me needing help and encouragement after a run-in with a nasty, lying mirror. You know the kind. We’ve all had our own encounters with these unforgiving monsters. From afar, these mirrors look like normal mirrors. But when you get up close to one of them to inspect it, it’s too late — you’ve already been lied to by this sad excuse for a reflection. As quickly as you can say, “Are my thighs REALLY that wide?” the mirror distorts your body into weird shapes (shapes, people!) that don’t so much as halfway resemble the way you know your body actually looks.

I’m almost one hundred percent positive these mirrors are manufactured solely for two arenas: dance studios and Hollister dressing rooms. Regardless, they unfortunately seem to be more prevalent than that.

So. What do you do when you come in contact with one of these dastardly little devils? Remember that mirrors don’t know you.

TODAY’S SELF-LOVE TIP: MIRRORS DON’T KNOW YOU.

The thing you need to remember about all mirrors (but especially the mean ones) is that they only reflect some sort of distorted, backwards image of your appearance. That’s it. They don’t reflect the real you.

  • They don’t reflect how good of a friend you are.
  • They don’t reflect how you make people feel.
  • They don’t reflect the way it feels to hug you.
  • They don’t reflect your empathy.
  • They don’t reflect the way your family feels about you.
  • They don’t reflect the way your friends feel about you.
  • They don’t reflect how your children feel about you.
  • They don’t reflect how your cats (in my case, ha) feel about you.

The truth is, mirrors are like those acquaintances you had in high school that you thought you’d never see again but, through some freak accident (read: Facebook) you interact with from time to time. They may act like they know you, but in reality, if they had to explain you to someone who’d never met you they’d be extremely limited.

MIRROR: “Who? Lindsay Durrenberger? Yeah, I know her. She’s about 5’6″ and has dirty blonde hair that’s kind of wavy and kind of curly and has a weird cowlick on the right side. She also stands weird because her left knee is wrong or something.”

PERSON: Yeah but I mean, what’s she like?

MIRROR: I just told you, didn’t I?

The only true part of the mirror’s evaluation of me is my height and hair color. My cowlick is on my LEFT side and my RIGHT knee was torn.

See? Mirrors don’t know beans about you. Don’t let them dictate your worth because you are SO much more than what meets the distorted eye of a piece of reflective metal.