Looking back, I must have been mental!  Either that or I was simply an odd concoction of narcissism and ignorance.  5'5" and 117 slim pounds.  I hadn't birthed a baby, no sun spots on my face, fine lines around my eyes, or weird skin hanging from places that (no one told me) skin would eventually hang.  And yet I was having a "fat day."  A what?

My mom looked me over, up and down, and said in a flat tone, "Wendy, this is the best you're ever going to look."

Here's the real bummer, where was my self-esteem?  I'm not saying it should have been wrapped up in my physical beauty, as tight as the elasticity of my young skin, but it surely is a shame I spent so much time judging myself, my thighs, my waist; feeling not good enough.  Now here I am, 10 months out from my 40th birthday, and a reverse conversation is happening between the mirror and my self-image.  I look at my reflection or a photo that's been snapped and think, "Who's that? I'm prettier than that?  Aren't I?"

Just a decade and a half ago my self-image was lower than my reality, and now that my self-image has finally gotten acquainted with my physical reality... it's all shifting again.  Downward.  Steadily downward.  

I'm going on a women's retreat in one week.  I mentioned that here. In just 6 days.  This isn't just any retreat; this is a group of writers, thinkers, photographers, and cooks.  It's a spectacular time of recharging in their collective midst.  And I'm giddy at the thought of what's to come.  (While it may seem I'm heading off down a rabbit hole, stay with me...)

Last year, one of our photographers captured each of us in the late afternoon sun at Castello di Amrosa, a midievil winery in Napa Valley.  While I love the photographer and can appreciate the pictures of me she took, I still look at them and wonder who the subject is.  Not me, surely.  Something strange happens to my face when I smile now.  

Anyway, this year Tammy, from Tammy Labuda Photography in Texas, is attempting to create unique, artistic portraits.  We've been asked to do a little bit more than simply "show up and smile" this time.  We've been charged to search both our souls and pinterest for images that capture what's going on in our imaginations, what's collected over these forty years on our insides, in our dreams and ideals.  We've shared pictures like these.

As pictures and creative ideas have flown between us, via pinerest, emails, and texts, the most fun has been shopping for costumes for one another.  Bethany in St. Louis, Kelli in Florida, Tammy in Texas, and me, out here in California.  Pictures of hats on heads, scarves round necks, dresses hung from bodies, curtain rods, or strewn on beds, are photographed and sent on.  We're teenagers again,  trying on clothes.  Stall after stall after stall, all lined up side-by-side in the dressing room.  Giggling as we hand each garment over the dividers for the next female to try on.  O, the comrodore of women.  

Of all the hilarity that's ensued from our dressing room frivolity, one email exchange pierced me most deep:

Kelli:  You guys are amazing. I love the creativity you have rolling around in your brains. All I can think is, "I hope Tammy's camera will actually take ten pounds off rather than add ten pounds." These are the thoughts in my brain.

Wendy:  The pounds! Kelli. I know. For three years now!  After Asher was born I lost it all, then suddenly there were 13 extra pounds.  I knocked some of it down, but the last few are just hanging on me, unbecomingly. The thought of Tammy's camera was stressing me out. The thought of bathing suit season was even worse. But, I tell you, the thoughts about all the self-centered thoughts were the final nails in my coffin. That's when I thought, "I don't want to see me, I want to see Jesus". Not just in these pictures, but in life.  I"m rather tired of thinking about myself so darn much!

Tammy:  Regarding those last few stubborn pounds, Wendy, I have struggled with not being happy with my physical appearance for far too long. Self esteem has never been my strength. My bum is droopy, my thighs are dimpled and jiggly, and my skin is not as youthful as it once was. As our time together approached, I was starting to fret. But, then I remembered I was going to be with all of YOU. Like Jenni said in her blog post last summer. We share a fellowship of friendship that embraces and celebrates who we are - as we are. There is acceptance and a celebration for who we are. I'm loved regardless of whether or not my knees look smoking hot in a shorter skirt. It just doesn't matter. My soul is enriched each time we are together. I leave with more confidence — that oozes from the inside out — making me feel more beautiful than I have ever felt before. That doesn't mean I don't wish I were more fit and trim. But it is what it is. I'll still work hard at it, but even if I haven't reached my fitness goals, I'm going to come to California and hang with you beautiful ladies — as I am. And I'm once and for all perfectly okay with that.  Besides...I know Photoshop!

How to wrap up a post like this?  I charge us all; let's not just embrace friendships that celebrate who we are... let us do the same.  Stretch in the morning, with your naked feet firmly planted on the cold hard floor, breath deeply and tell God what a good job He did when he wove you together in your Mother's womb.  Celebrate that and do a little naked dance step before stepping into the shower, for we are, ladies, fearfully and wonderfully made!

I'm going to practice this personal celebration, because I reflect more real beauty today than I did 3,000 yesterdays ago.  It's been hard won.  And the trophy of my years should be shined up and displayed without embarrassment!  I have persevered and loved longer and better, and each line reflects that; my widened hips tell of loved ones birthed and then propped upon them.  

So shine up that camera, Tammy!  I'm bringing my A Game!  Not because I sport the figure of an A list actress, but because I am Absolutely Amazing, today.  Every Phenomenal ounce of me.

Phenomenal Woman

by Maya Angelo

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size

But when I start to tell them,

They think I'm telling lies.

I say,

It's in the reach of my arms

The span of my hips,

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.

I say,

It's the fire in my eyes,

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing in my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can't touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them

They say they still can't see.

I say,

It's in the arch of my back,

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

Now you understand

Just why my head's not bowed.

I don't shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.

When you see me passing

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It's in the click of my heels,

The bend of my hair,

the palm of my hand,

The need of my care,

'Cause I'm a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.