When did you first hear the message it was wrong to love yourself as much as you did? When did someone first emotionally knock you down, hit your ego and leave a bruise? . We weren’t born hating our thighs, our tiny fine lines and perceived imperfections. I’ve worked as a preschool teacher, and I can tell you that three-year-olds don’t look at themselves in the mirror and see that last five pounds they just can’t shake; they don’t see that curly hair that could be straighter, that stick straight hair that should be wavier. They don’t see the nose that is too long or too pointed, the face that is too round, the eyes that are too small, the chin that doesn’t exist. . No, when you show a child a mirror, they smile, because they love what they see, because they love themselves. . Once, I knew a woman who, at the edge of fifty looked like a young woman. She had a body that was strong and lean, gorgeous hair that seemed effortlessly shiny and perfectly wavy, and a face that was conventionally pretty by every beauty standard. . But when she looked in the mirror, she saw none of that. . She saw the ounces of fat that she swore hung under her arms—not the muscular biceps that could do 100 push ups. She saw thick, unattractive thighs—not strong legs that could effortlessly breeze through endless burpies and suicides in bootcamp. Every part of her, in her own mind, was flawed; she was constantly dieting, working out, getting her hair done, her nails painted, and her face cared for, in a quest to regain a youth she never lost and a beauty she still clearly possessed but simply couldn’t see. . One day, she asked me to make an image of her, not for her husband or for her personal coaching website, but for herself—so she could see herself the way others saw her. . And when I delivered her portraits to her, she cried. . For the first time, she saw herself the way others saw her. . posted on Instagram - https://ift.tt/2Kczpj6
