The Photoshoot

Ok fine.  Even though it was miserable hot that day,
look at this gorgeous sky!  Even I couldn't get mad at this. 

I had a photoshoot this weekend. 

I was already dreading it, this damn photoshoot.   

But then, The Perfect Storm of All Things Crappy came together to make it the absolute worst possible time for me to take pictures.

I was sick all week.  In addition to acting like a giant grumpy baby, I was sniffly, snotty, and exhausted, not to mention I reeked of Halls Honey-Lemon Triple Soothing Action Menthol Cough Suppressants (just wow, Halls marketing team). 

I skipped my workouts for a week due to this stupid cold.  Not exercising made me feel like a lazy, disgusting blob (picture Jabba The Hutt). 

It was freaking HOT.  As in, a sweltering 85 degrees, there-aren’t-enough-fans-in-the-world, sweat-running-down-my-legs hot.  I took hot mess to a whole new level. 

But the real reason why I didn’t want this photoshoot to happen?  

I’m too fat. 

That’s the tape that kept playing over and over in my head as my calendar crept closer and closer to the day marked “FREAKING PHOTOSHOOT.”   

Some crazy creative ideas popped into my head that, quite honestly, were downright impressive: Wear your snowboarding gear!  Position your hair to cover your entire face! Take shots from 1000 yards away! Google “best angles for chubby faces”! Buy Spanx for your whole body!   

But that thought—too fat!—kept haunting me.  Did I really want to take pictures knowing that I’m a lot heavier than I’d like to be?  And, more importantly, did I really want to share these pictures with, you know, people?

An extraordinary thing happened that day.  After a few minutes of shooting, the photographer asked me to look at the first pictures.  I nervously peeked at the camera.  And you know what?  To my utter surprise, they weren’t that bad.  

And that’s when I heard: 

STOP!  You are so beautiful and YOU’RE MISSING IT!  

BOOM. 

This is making me cry as I write it, because that thought was clearly not from me.  That is not how I talk to myself, ever.  So I know this wasn’t some errant brain cell with a surprisingly supportive idea.

God wanted me to hear him, loud and clear.

While I’m getting better at being kind to myself, I tend to ride the roller coaster of I’m not thin enough, pretty enough, good enough.  And in those dark moments, what I need to desperately cling to is this: 

He loves and accepts me just the way I am—and I need to do the same. 

I did a little Googling, and found some great quotes.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psalm 139:14 

True Beauty emanates from a woman who boldly and unabashedly knows who she is in Christ.  Jen Smidt

I also came upon a disturbing statistic: Only two percent of women describe themselves as beautiful.* 

Yikes.  This struck me as incredibly sad.  I mean, I knew I wasn’t the only one, but that was worse than I expected.  

I felt moved to do something about this. So here’s what I’m doing:

1. I taped Psalm 139:14 to my bathroom mirror, and I repeat it whenever I see it. 

2. I’m committed to improving my inner beauty, too. 

And yes, I’m working on losing these 10 stubborn pounds, because how I look and feel is still important to me.  But. 

I'm reveling in the power of knowing that I'm beautiful just the way I am.  And more importantly, what matters most is my heart. 

* http://www.dove.co.uk/en/Tips-Topics-and-Tools/Articles-and-Advice/Only-2per-of-women-think-they-are-beautiful.aspx