When my partner gazes at me, he sees beauty. If you were to ask him to describe my appearance, he would speak of my thick, platinum waves cascading down my shoulders. He believes I don’t require makeup; my blue eyes alone hold enough mystery and mischief to illuminate my face. My lips, he claims, are as red as cherries, perfectly embodying Cupid’s bow.
He admires my small waist, the gentle curve of my belly that he considers alluring, and my breasts that are full and proportionate to my hips. My legs are long and elegantly tapered to delicate ankles, and my slim feet look fabulous in both flats and heels. I embody voluptuousness and softness.
His affection for my shape is palpable; he delights in how my curves fit perfectly within his embrace, how my hair dances around his face during kisses. He loves watching me walk away, and I relish his gaze upon me.
His perception of me is so compelling that it begins to shape my own self-image. When he tells me I am beautiful, I feel invincible. I embody strength, femininity, and grace. My smile is authentic, and my laughter resonates with joy. I walk with confidence, swaying my hips, and my body reflects the softness and strength of motherhood.
However, the reflection I see in the mirror often starkly contrasts with the image of the woman my partner adores. I find myself questioning where the discrepancy lies—in his perception or my own?
Upon glimpsing my reflection, I often feel a sense of disappointment, akin to the feeling I had as a child when I broke my mother’s cherished heirloom. I recall her gasp of pain and how it made me feel responsible for her sorrow. Similarly, when I pass a mirror, I experience a rush of regret and a sense of inadequacy. The vibrant woman I envision is absent; instead, I see a tired, suburban mother.
My hair, though nice, hangs heavy and dull. Its hue has shifted from blonde to a muddier brown after the hormonal changes of pregnancy. My eyes, while a beautiful cornflower blue, are framed by pale lashes that vanish without mascara. My cheeks may be cheerful, but they are also fuller than I would like, and my lips suffer from neglect. The signs of aging taunt me with deepening lines between my brows.
Beyond the superficial, I confront the reality of my body. My waist is burdened with leftover baby weight, my belly adorned with silvery scars that tell stories of motherhood. My breasts, though full, sag from years of nursing. While my legs may be long, they are also fuller, and I avoid stiletto heels altogether.
Reconciling the image I see with my partner’s adoration is a daily struggle. Yet, I admire the woman he loves; she is who I aspire to be. I choose to embrace the reflection in his eyes, disregarding the mirror’s unkind portrayal. That choice fuels my fierceness.
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In conclusion, the challenge lies in bridging the gap between self-perception and the love reflected in our partner’s eyes. Embracing their admiration can empower us to reclaim our confidence and self-worth.