While we ate our pasta and drank our wine, we talked about everything. It's what we do; nothing is off limits. We discussed our relationships, work, finances, and so much more. But like how it sometimes can happen, we sort of began discussing our bodies. Our features we hated the most; what we'd kill to change. How we would give anything to look like we did at 16, 18, or 21.
After ruminating on it for a while, I am just sad about it. Why can't we, as women, just be happy with ourselves? We don't look like Kate Upton. And that's okay.
My self-confidence in my appearance has never been strong, and was all but destroyed in the past few years, especially in the last few months. It's hard to be kind to yourself when your competition is a size two and wears bikinis on stage without a second thought. Slowly though, I'm realizing that I'm not so bad.
My dinner last night was shared with great company. We are beautiful, strong women. We have kind hearts and quick wits. We are intelligent and successful. We are mothers, we fear God, and we matter.
We aren't Kate.
But we're Carole, Sarah, Erin, and Wendy.
And we are beautiful.