If I had to say, I grew up in a home where compliments were rarely given. Being an honors student from elementary school all the way to my college graduation didn’t equal extra credit for my accomplishments. If anything, it inspired anger and resentment, so I learned early not to expect praise, and to suppress my successes.
This affected not just my ambitions, but how I saw myself overall. Any confidence I could cultivate came from my own inner drive, so to say that my self-esteem was shaky was an understatement. And that definitely applied to my looks, too. Sure, I had a boyfriend (now my husband) who thought I was super smart and sexy, and oohed and aahed over my brains and body all the time.
And still, it didn’t satisfy the part of me that craved the comfort of unconditional acceptance.
Later that evening, I summoned the courage to look at the caricature again, and something shifted. I saw myself: my blonde curly hair, my favorite little black dress, and, of course, a camera in my hands. I also saw my tiny waist (something, thankfully, that I never lost after having four kids) and my thick thighs.
Physical attributes aside, what I really saw was my smile and the spark in my eyes.
The person shining back at me wasn’t a cartoon—she was my spirit. Sure, Caricature Jennifer might have been hiding a few stretch marks under that LBD, but she was also bubbly and vibrant, something I’ve always been told was too much.
Listen, when life is life-ing, you just don’t have time to balance staying late at work and a kid whose science project is overdue when you agreed to help glue the solar system in place. In those moments, your mascara might be smudged, and you might feel entirely unglamorous. But that part of you is still there. She just knows when to come out.
I realized the pinup pic wasn’t something to compete with or make me feel less than, since looking like that every day is a near impossibility. Instead, it dawned on me that she was there to support me, not turn me into my own worst enemy. Her confidence meant that when someone gave me a compliment on my cute shoes or a good idea, I could accept it and believe it. In a way, I felt empowered. It reminded me of who I was and encouraged me to connect with her every now and then—not just on date night, but to take a little extra time to get dressed up, or simply rest. That image wasn’t to impress others, but to serve as a reminder to myself.
Sure, she might not look like she was up half the night with a sick kid or grieving the utterly unimaginable loss of her best friend, but she’s in there. She’s rooting for me, and I owe it to her to show up for myself.
And maybe I’ll find myself handing someone my phone and saying, “Hey, can you take a picture of me?” for no other reason than pure joy, and when they hand it back, accepting and loving who’s looking back at me—because she’s (pretty) amazing.