Dear women who are
critical of their own image in the mirror,
When I pass you on the street, in a moment when you're distracted by an unexpected sight, (such as a kitten playing in a shop window, that perfect pair of shoes, or a poster advertising a talk by Malcolm Gladwell)...
When I pass you on the street, and see you in that moment when you forget yourself and let go of your worry about how you look... in that moment I am overwhelmed by your carefree, breathtaking radiance.
I try not to stare, but your femininity has drawn me in. I am not looking at you in order to judge you... you may feel you're too fat or too thin, that you have bumps and wrinkles in unattractive places, and that your skin tone and hair don't match up to the fashion spreads in Vogue magazine.
I'm not seeing that. In this moment, I feel only unspoken desire and appreciation, I feel inspired by the glow of the divine feminine channeled through your human form.
As we talk over coffee, you may worry for a moment that I will notice an imperfection in your teeth, or that I'm judging the length and fullness of your eye lashes.
If I look intently at your face, it is because I'm seeing the glint of insight in your eyes while you share your thoughts with me. If my gaze lingers too long at your mouth, it is because the irregularities in your smile remind me of our shared humanity, and noticing the tension across your lips turns me on.
I know there have been times when you've been criticized by other women for how you look, been judged and rated on a scale from 1 to 10 by men who don't even know you. And it's so unfair.
I want you to know that what attracts me most is how you move, how you purr or growl, how you demonstrate your sweetness and integrity and determination, and the beauty of the depth and range of emotions and thoughts that make up your inner world.
If it's a cliche, it's only because it is true: perfection is boring. I am dying to fall in love with all your little imperfections.
x