I’m going to show you a few photos of myself, and I’d like you to take a guess as to what they have in common.
Ready?
Here we go:
Here I am (second from right) on my high school cross country team in the late 90s.
Me (on the left) working as a camp counselor around 2002. (Check out my friend Ashleigh's muumuu!)
Me (on the left) in my dorm room with my college roommate, Jennie.
On the way to one of Simon's gigs with my friend Veronica before we got married (me and Simon, not me and Veronica).
…
Okie dokie, any thoughts? Anyone?
Alright, I’ll tell you.
At the time when every single one of these photos was taken, I vividly remember thinking I wasn’t pretty.
Throughout my teens and early 20s, I was convinced I was too tall, too fat, had too many stretch marks, bad skin, too much cellulite.
I don’t know if it’s because I married a man who loves all the bits of me that I’ve always hated; or because I’ve shared a lot of dorm rooms and hotel suites and houses with a lot of girls, and I know we’re all different and have our own insecurities; or because I watched my body work with strength and grace to house a baby for nine months, and deliver him safely into the world, but I love my body now.
Don’t get me wrong. I still have my insecure days. Sometimes I look in the mirror and wish things were different. My body has changed a lot in the past ten years, and pregnancy didn’t do it any huge favours. I’m not going to lie – I’d love to have the body I had when I was 20.
But in ten years, I don’t want to look at photos of myself from the year I turned 30 and wish I’d appreciated that body more. I don’t want to long for it, and chide my 30-year-old self for not seeing the beauty right in front of her. I don’t want to keep making the same mistakes over and over again for the rest of my life.
Isn’t one of the best parts of getting older getting wiser?
So wise up, ladies.
We are so hot right now.
