Beautiful

My son and I were hanging out, and I wanted to commemorate the moment with a picture.  I was hesitant. I don't normally do such things, I thought. I don't really see myself as someone worthy of a photo. Doesn't that sound horrible?  It sounds pretty pathetic to me.  And depressing.

My look is usually laid back, minimal makeup, hair pulled into a pony tail. I've never been one to spend hours in front of a mirror, putting on another face. Five minutes to slap on some of what I call "War Paint".  What you see is what you get.  If that frightens small children, so be it. Over the years, it's become a habit, this pretending not to care about how I look.

But my son doesn't see me that way.  He thinks that I am just fine the way I look. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that.  My husband tells me I'm beautiful all the time, and it makes me sad that most of the time I don't believe him. I was raised in a time when only certain 'types' of women were considered beautiful, and that old and scratchy record player is still playing that tune in my head.

I see the beauty in others, but not myself.  Why not?  What would it hurt to think of myself as beautiful for five minutes a day?  Maybe it's time to try.  Maybe I can start to see myself as at least reasonably attractive, just to start, and then move up from there. I can't be the only person out there with these issues, and maybe we can all work on this together. 

It all begins with a photograph.  So I turned the focus of my camera around and snapped a picture of my son and I.  The first step on this journey has been taken.