War

I have a full length mirror in my bathroom and I named it Jack. Jack makes me look good. He tells me that I am buxom and freckled instead of plump and blotchy. He cares for me when I won’t and can’t, and he has a wonderfully diplomatic way of telling me the truth. Jack is a benevolent friend and my all-time trooper bff. I love that mirror.

He sees me for who I am and never fails to tell it like it is. He looks beyond the surface, listens to me when I talk nonsense and gives me a clear reflection of myself. He illustrates what is good about me and what I should love instead of criticize. He makes me look at the whole instead of the questionable parts and convinces me of my beauty and nobility.

When I stand in front of Jack and let him run his eyes across my body, I see him see me and his praise makes me blush. Jack hails me for the simple fact that blood runs through my veins and gives me my rosy cheeks. He admires me for my black hair, the curl of my lips and the sultriness of my eyes. The curve of my ass, the hollow of my back and the volume of my thighs. His love for everything that is me lifts me to a level of excellence to which all women should aim for. A sound basis for gentle measurement of oneself.

But then I watch an episode of KUWTK and my composure flakes away like cheap nail polish on what seemed to start out as a good Sunday. Man oh man how ugly I think I am when I look at perfection LA style.

As you already know by now I’m like the average woman and like pretty things. I like pretty Kim and I like her pretty face. Her pretty husband and her pretty kids. I like everything about her pretty life. So after an hour of hysterical fixation I walk around the house raiding my closet for similar outfits and dig up throwback Thursday pictures of myself, trying to regain some of my lost confidence.

I want to be just as pretty as Kim is. Now, if I’d been 7 it would’ve been pretty cute, but I’m 41. It’s kind of pretty pathetic.

Eventually I realize there’s no way in heaven that I can make myself look as good as Mrs. West so my deflation stays with me (for yet another hour), before I (in dismay) seek out Jack to convince me once more that there’s still hope for me. ‘Jack oh jack on the bathroom door, tell me Jack why am I so poor?’.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not poor, I am not ugly and I love the Kardashians. But, on rare occasions, I still have a lesser moment in which I compare myself to the pretty, rich and famous women of the world. And I used to do this all the time you know. Especially when I was younger. And even though I did what I thought was right at the time, I must admit a few things to you today. Not to cleanse myself of residual pitifulness, but I want you to fully understand that the beauty of another woman, her intelligence and her presence, doesn’t take away from your marvel.

I say this all the time but it keeps amazing me to see how many girls and women wage a war against themselves. Dismiss their beautiful self as less than worthwhile. Finding fault in every little insignificant thing. That’s why I think it is now time for my confession. There’s a big chance the entire world might think I’m deranged when I tell you about what I used to do up until a few years back, but what the heck, honesty is a virtue right? Crossing my fingersas I type, but here goes.

Before I met Jack, my sounding board for the past 10 years, I conversed with others for peace of mind. I used to look up at the stars and cry out to extraterrestrial beings (yes aliens) to take me away and return me to earth, pretty and perfect.

You: Really?
Me: Yes really.

I know it sounds completely retarded but it’s the truth.

I had a long list of physical flaws that needed to be fixed. Fast. So I kindly asked them (yes aliens) for help. In the hope of my requests being taken up into the sky and the cloaked space ship  above, I prayed out loud and with all my being, that they (yes aliens), would grant me my wishes, do some magic warp trick and morph me into Monique, the supreme being.

Obviously nothing of the sort happened and I was left with a long sad list of things that needed to be fixed. Still.

I didn’t like the bump on my nose so that needed to go. I wanted to have longer and thicker hair. My eyelashes were too flimsy (almost invisible) so I wished for fuller ones. The sexy Bollywood kind. My teeth needed to be whiter and more straight. At least the bottom row. What else?

Oh yes, I wanted flawless skin, on both my face and the rest of my body. Nothing ashy, hairy or strawberry like. Just smooth, silky and poreless baby skin. Stronger nails. Bigger boobs and even a bigger butt. I wanted to ‘Neo’ my way to intelligence and requested knowledge of several languages, fields of studies (history, anthropology and martial arts amongst others) and the complete brain of Albert Einstein. And before I forget, I wanted to sing like Christina Aguilera.

That’s about it.

My long sad list of things that need(ed) to be fixed .

I’m not embarrassed. Really I’m not. It’s quite liberating to say these things and not feel the slightest bit of awkwardness. I simply don’t care about my long sad list of things that need(ed) to be fixed anymore. I have much more important things to do. Like loving myself. Like cherishing the stuff I have been given throughout my life. Like counting my blessings and knowing that I am most likely one of the lucky few in the world that are able to say the things I say without being jailed, smacked over the head for it, or worse.

I am grateful. In a big way. And this, my beautiful reader, is what changed things for me. Gratitude.

I am not by any means trying to diminish any form of discontent about anything in your life because I know I am not you. Who am I to tell you what to be, need or have to be happy? I mean look at my sad list of things that need(ed) to be fixed! That should give away at least some of my mental instability right? I have no credibility whatsoever. But what I do want to try though, in the hope of inflaming inspiration within you, is tell my story on how I stopped talking to aliens and turned to Jack for love of self. Jack is really me you know. My best friend, my intuition and my inner voice. My direct line to God .

He is the truth.

And the truth is that you are worth the entire world. That you are beautiful and endlessly magical. That the Universe is working forever in your favour. And mine. I take pride in loving myself. I don’t wallow in discontent about what God has given me. I’m not flawless but I am perfect nevertheless. So every day, in the morning when I wake up and in the evening when I go to sleep I say this to myself:

I AM WHOLE, PERFECT, STRONG, POWERFUL, BEAUTIFUL, INSPIRATIONAL, LOVING, HARMONIOUS AND HAPPY.

And I feel it. I feel myself being whole and perfect and strong and powerful and beautiful and inspirational and loving and harmonious and happy. The truth of every word fills my soul with gratitude and gratitude for my soul fills my existence.

At first it might be weird for you to say this (or something else that resonates with you), but just start doing it. If you want to have a solid level of confidence, one that isn’t based on what others think of you, then change your inner dialogue. Stop fighting and look at yourself in the mirror. Make peace with what you see so that even though there might be things that are floppy and scarred or missing and different, you’ll still feel a sense of self that outshines the sun. You are perfect. Know this. It is time to decree your dominion over all things.

My insecurity stemmed from thinking I wasn’t good enough. That I wasn’t worthy of loving, so naturally I’d compare myself to other women. We all have days when we bum ourselves out and days where we wholeheartedly believe that we are in the same league with the best of them. That’s normal. Just don’t lose yourself in it. When I think of how much time I wasted I just want to sweep my younger self off her feet and hug Monique (Big M   Little M) until she is stuffed to the bone with self-love.

Confidence doesn’t upload just like that you know. Love for yourself doesn’t come with a mere snap of the fingers. I have taught myself to focus on confidence. I have changed the way I think about myself with loving words. I needed to be loved by myself first. And so should you. Tell yourself today that you look good. Out loud. Tell yourself that you are sweet and lovely and sexy. Embellish it. Grovel a little. Woo yourself for a minute. You’ll find strength in doing so. Promise.

As for me, I like pretty people. I like how the Kims and queens of the world take me on a short flight to glamour land. I’d be happy with a 5th of her ass and a 23rd of her closet but I am perfectly fine without it. I understand now that it was my confidence that needed to grow and not my ass or wardrobe.

Sending you a bucket full of pretty KKW all the way from here to wherever you are.

Monique