I love my…


A few months ago, I committed myself to waking up each morning and listing the random, quirky things I like about myself. You know, kind of like Jessica’s Daily Affirmations. Though, admittedly, I was nowhere near as cute.

I’d read about the power of positive affirmations and thinking and figured why not give yet another hippy-dippy thing a try? Go big or go home, right?

I had realized, not only is perfection completely boring, it is impossible to achieve. And if I didn’t embrace my oddities, the very things that make me me, how could I expect anyone else to?

It’s easy for me to find beauty in other’s imperfections. I find slightly janky teeth adorable. Messy hair is the cutest thing ever. I love taking note of people’s nervous, antsy habits like knee bouncing, incessant pen clicking and twirling their hair. In short, weird = good in my book. Weird is what makes people people.

But waking up in the morning, I faced the mirror and thought like many of us do

Ugh why is my hair doing that?

Am I breaking out AGAIN?

Why why why do I look this way? 

Why am I so damn awkward? 

So I forced myself to see myself like I see others. What bizarre attributes make me who I am? And which was I going to take ownership of?

– My hair. It’s big. It’s brown. It’s a tangled, corkscrew-filled mess. For most of my life, I’ve wished to wake up one day and have it fall silky straight around my shoulders. But not anymore. People randomly come up and touch it, squeeze it, pull a curl down just to watch it spring back up upon release. Yes, it’s a bit awkward, but the fact that they usually stammer something along the lines of, “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” always makes me laugh. This mass of curls is apparently practically irresistible.

– My feet. I find them pretty normal, but I’ve been told they are wildly attractive. I’ll take it.

– My teeth. I still haven’t lost a few of my baby teeth. I have one molar that’s 180 degrees in the wrong direction. I used to have a huge gap in front that closed over the years. No braces, ever.

– My habits. I always, always have lip balm on me. I practically lose my mind if I go over an hour without slicking on something minty or fruity.

Yes, I did just reach over an reapply. Lemon flavor, if you were wondering.

– I love listening to obscure bands. But I also shamelessly will blast the likes of Kelly Clarkson and Britney Spears completely unironically. I realize this loses me quite a bit of hipster street cred. I’ll deal.

– I like to wake up at 7 and be in bed by 11. It’s wonderful. And so totally grandma. And I am so totally ok with it.

– When I talk, I tend to mumble, interject sound effects into stories (eek, meep, grr, and argh are all favorites), and burst into giggles before the story is over so that people often have to ask for a repeat.

You see, this why I write. Go ahead and reread that sentence if you need to.

It seems silly to think of these things, but it works and I go back to it when I hit a rough patch.

And yesterday, as I was getting dressed, I caught a glance of myself in the tiny side mirror in my bedroom. Normally, this would still lead to a hardcore self-judging session. I’ve come far, but those thoughts have still lingered in the back of my mind.

But something was different. I don’t have a scale here. I’ve bought clothes at several different stores in several different sizes. I have no idea where I really am in relation to my “ideal.” But slipping into my jeans, I couldn’t help but realize, I don’t have the physique of a pre-pubescent boy like I used to. There’s not a chance someone would hand me the kids’ menu now as they did on my 18th birthday.

It’s been a few years since I’ve looked like that, but the fact has bothered me. That body felt safe, secure, like I could just slip by without anyone noticing. Having some junk in the trunk, meat on my bones, whatever you want to call it has been scary.

But I’ve come to realize, when I eat what and how much I know I should, when I put in the amount time at the gym that feels good and when I embrace all every bit and piece of me, things usually fall into place. Not too big, not too small, but like Goldilocks’ porridge, just right. My body knows where it needs to be and trying to fight that is both exhausting and fruitless.

I realized I look like a healthy, strong 20-year-old woman in the perfect way for me at this moment.

It was glorious.

So what makes your list?

Don’t be shy.

Go head.

Make one.


4 Responses to “I love my…”

  1. lies. THIS made my night. you’re awesome.

  2. this is so great! glad your inner life is going well over there too. (“inner life”?? who’s hippy-dippy now? bluh)

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