The Fairest of Them All

Before I go out the door, I have a habit of taking one last look in the mirror and asking it, "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"
I don't give him enough time to answer though - I scurry out of my apartment happy and confident that I'm somewhere in between average and beautiful.

However, during my least favorite time of the month, I find myself looking deeper and lingering longer in front of that mirror, asking him the same question, and waiting to hear his disappointing responses.
Stop asking me that question ...
Obviously not you.
Maybe the girl that played Helen of Troy...
Oooh ... or maybe Halle Berry.
Why do even ask?
Ewwwww.

His answers along with a heightened insecurity about my timely burgeoning curves (which in my opinion make me look like one of those ancient buddha-like Earth mother statues that we used to study in Art History class), tend to translate into despair - Despair that has been debilitating in the past. 

Here's the thing though, this go around - during this 'time of the month,' it didn't happen. No mirror, mirror confrontation, no tears, no browsing through old Ancient Art and Architecture texts to see which deity I most resembled, and no wide eyes and what-to-do questions from Peter. I'm not going to claim that my problems are solved - that I'm healed of my self-pestering that according to a recent Glamour article is more the norm than not. But I am going to assert that I'm worlds away from where I once was. While I'm sure Glamour wants me to say I followed their remedy and poof the mirror started telling me I was the fairest in the land, I actually used a more novel, more personalized approach and by golly, it worked!

I started weighing myself once a week. 
I used to tap, tap, tappity tap, my scale 5, 6 ...10! times a day. Each time hoping that when I stepped on it I would magically lose 5 pounds and hear the response, "you are the sveltest in all the land." It continued to disappoint me though. It continued to stress me out. It continued to make me cry. So I put it away and now only use it once a week to check my status. (Of course I do it after my looooong Saturday runs to get the best feedback possible.)
My new test - If I can zip my work dress in the morning and button my jeans in the evening, I'm all set. And so far, so good.

I listened to a chef's wise words.
When Peter's friends Jim and Jess visited us in Naperville several years ago, I cooked for them. This was an intimidating experience, because Jess is a chef. While cooking I started professing my love for the culinary arts and how I had high aspirations of reaching her level of expertise and adventure. As if  feeling out my level of commitment she asked, whose your favorite celebrity chef?
Oh Giada! 
I remember her response vividly. 
You can't trust a chef with a manicure. 
I was crushed, but after digesting her words, I realized it was the best cooking advice I ever received. That day forward I turned my back on the Food Network Stars and instead followed the people that were truly dedicated to their craft rather than their appearance or brand. Being a good cook - doing anything well for that matter - means taking your image out of it.   

I remembered life before. 
Last night I ate leftovers for dinner - I thawed out some of the pierogies we froze after the Super Bowl, fried them up with some onions, reheated the shredded roast beef from two nights ago and dobbed it on top, made a salad, and then savored each option without hesitation. From seventh grade till just about two years ago, I could not have done this - I could not have enjoyed or even prepared this meal because I had a fear of the hearty - I had a fear that butter, fat, and flavor would immediately turn me into the dough girl. It was a pretty miserable period of time - I ate cheerios, lettuce, boneless skinless chicken breasts and more lettuce - I was very skinny, but very hungry.

I don't know if it was the awkward way that Anne Hathaway was holding her stomach like it hurt from not being fed while hosting the Oscars or the audible growl coming from Julie Bowen's abdomen throughout every episode of Modern Family, but this past week I started thinking about the hunger and restricted diet of my past. I now love the taste of real food, full meals, and beef that tastes simultaneously like my one Grandma's beef birds and my other Grandma's roast. I can't imagine returning to a life without flavor and the feeling of being full.
  
I found another mirror.
I still look in the mirror, mostly to apply my make-up and do my hair, but I took away his magic powers. I gave them to someone else - Peter.
I'm afraid I'm getting fat and that I'm going to be a fat bride.
(Wide eyes ... Oh geeeeeeez going through his head)

How about this - let's make a deal - I will tell you when you have put on weight and you might want to consider a diet, but until then you can consider yourself perfect. You are the fairest of them all.
(Big smile.)

No matter the root of your insecurity - whether it was the boys in your fifth grade class, the woman in the super market that said you were "one hearty woman," or the models and actresses with impossibly thin frames, try to find a mirror that can see deeper than your facade. Because under your make-up, your clothes, and your ever-evolving physique you are a runner, a cook, and a writer - a daughter, sister and friend - a fiance who is the fairest in all the land to the one that matters most.

Lo.