I keep saying I’ll wait until I love myself.
A little bit thinner.
A little bit tanner.
A little bit more like this crazy memory I have of myself eleventy billion years ago where I thought, for a moment, I was beautiful.
Months of dieting.
Months of working out.
Months of me looking in the mirror going what the fuck, body. Two years ago, you would have been in shape by now.
I’m tired of dieting.
I love chicken wings. I love beer. I love fried things, and powdered things, and things covered in guacamole.
I’m tired of untagging myself in photos, and hiding behind my children in photos.
I’m tired of letting other people make me feel unpretty. Or fat. Or less than.
I’m tired of hating myself every time I look in the mirror.
I’m done waiting for some stupid goal.
I can’t put off my life, or these really amazing things happening to me, because of this complex I’ve allowed myself to have about the number in my jeans.
People love me exactly how I am in this moment, and if I can’t wrap my brain around that, and do the same, I’m a selfish asshole.
How dare I be so wrapped up in my own self loathing, that I diminish any of the happiness people around me deserve to feel.
I am a whole person.
I’m funny and witty and successful in a lot of things I’ve worked very hard for.
Sometimes I need a little help to think I’m pretty.
One day I hope to be able to think it all on my own.
But, for now, I thank Mishi.
I know, right!?
She has an amazing eye and and even better ability to remind me I’m a woman.
Not just a mom. Or a wife. Or girl who cuts the tags out of her underwear.
But, a brilliant, capable, sexy as hell woman.
*All photographs courtesy Mishelle Lane Photography.