Self Portrait Thursday - learning to love me

Nothing annoys me more than a beautiful woman that nit-picks herself apart.  "My thighs are too big" (said while drinking a skinny latte in size 2 jeans)...  "I hate my straight hair" (said on a rainy day while my frizzy locks are out of control and her's are shining and smooth)...  "My nose is too big" (while examining a perfectly sculptured face in the mirror of the bathroom).

I am going to admit it right now.  I think I am pretty.  Not gorgeous.  Not "model" material.  But I have been blessed with a face that isn't unpleasant to look at.  I say "Thank you" graciously when someone tells me I am attractive or compliments my appearance, because I know that they are being sincere.  And it does make me feel good about myself. 

I won't go so far as to consider myself narcissistic.  Trust me, I spend plenty of time in front of the mirror cursing my genetically strong nose passed to me from my cherokee ancestors, or lamenting my over-zealous freckles (especially in the summertime when the brutal Texas sun brings them out full-force).  

As a child I despised the brown undertones to my hazel green eyes.  I wanted them to just be green.  I thought that maybe someday I'd get the pretty colored contacts that were in the magazines when I was a teen.  My curly red hair was highlighted to blond and straightened with many products and heating mechanisms until it laid flat and lifeless on my head.  I thought I prefered it that way.

I caked makeup on in the attempt to hide the freckles and dark circles under my eyes caused from seasonal allergies.  I learned about the joys of teeth whitening to rid myself of the affects of southern-made iced tea and a mild-addiction to coca-cola since my youth.

And lets not even talk about the areas of my body below my neck.  Many mornings I've stood in front of my full-length mirror trying to get the newest "wonder bra" to make my small breasts look more full and trying on jeans that would hopefully minimize the natural curves in my hips and derriere.  Up until I had children, I had a fairly flat stomach that I was proud of, but that has been harder to maintain as gravity and two pregnancies had their way with my body.

I am now nearly 33 years old.  Crows feet frame my eyes and laugh lines work as parenthesis around my perfect smile.  I do not curse them though, as I know they are the result of many years of happiness and laughter.  I earned them and wear them with pride.  I use less makeup these days (some days going without any), as I've learned to love my freckles - they remind me of many joyful days in the sun and of the Irish heritage that passed on fair skin to me, as well as a fierce pride and stubborn will.  My hair still gets highlighted, and I do sometimes straighten it for a different look, but I no longer fight the curls that God gave me on a daily basis.  I rejoice in them now instead.

The eyes that I wanted so badly to be bright green, but instead were clouded with flecks of brown are now one of my favorite features.  I know that my eyes are warm and inviting to those that I meet.  My eyes are a window into my soul to those that know and love me best.  My eyes allow me to see and experience my children each day.  I am thankful that they are healthy and give me the ability to see the world and love around me.

And the body that is fuller in some areas, and flatter in others... still brings me joy.  This body created two beautiful children, so each dimple, scar and roll was earned with love.  And this body still knows the joys of feeling another body against it.  It can give and experience love in a way that touches hearts and souls.  Size and firmness cannot take that away from me. 

Today I rejoice in the things that God gave me... my red curly hair (that sometimes frizzes), my hazel eyes (that tear up when something beautiful touches me), my line-crowned smile (that lights up in the presence of my children), and imperfect skin (that knows how to love and be loved).  I am a woman.  I am a mother.  I am a lover.  I am beautiful.