This is taken from one of Amy Ferris’s Facebook posts which has over 70 shares. Read and enjoy. Feel free to comment.
Amy Ferris is an author, editor, screenwriter and playwright. Her screen adaptation of J. California Cooper’s short story, Funny Valentines (Director: Julie Dash) was nominated for a Best Screenplay Award (BET, Black Reel). Her other screen credits include the feature: Mr. Wonderful (Director: Anthony Minghella), and the series, Jack’s Place (Scott Brazil, Director, Showrunner – CBS). Amy curated two anthologies: Dancing at The Shame Prom (co-editor), and Shades of Blue – Writers on Depression and Feeling Blue (both published by Seal Press) and is a contributor to numerous anthologies. In 2012, Marrying George Clooney was adapted into an Off-Broadway play. I n 2018, Amy was honored with Women’s eNews prestigious award 21 LEADERS FOR THE 21ST CENTURY. In 2020, Amy co-authored OLD SCHOOL LOVE (HarperCollins Publishers) with Rev Run of Run DMC fame. She was recently named one of NextTribe’s WOMEN of the Year 2021. Amy is the Director of Story Summit Writer’s School. She is on the Advisory board of The Women’s Media Center and a co-founder of Milford Readers and Writers Festival. She is currently finishing her next memoir, The Mess of Love for SheWritesPress, Pub Date:2023
I know that I’m beautiful. Today I feel beautiful. Yesterday, I waffled. And last week, well, I stood in front of a full-length mirror – my mouth and my eyes were the same exact shell-shocked size – staring at my 67 year old body in a bathing suit.
My fucking god.
On that day, I made a deal with my compact mirror: it & I would become best friends. I would hold it in my hand and it would only reflect me from the neck up.
But today, today I feel beautiful. Today I glow & shine & feel like a million bucks after taxes, maybe even two million.
I have spent a good chunk of my life feeling inadequate, unattractive, less than. I was a size 3 at my wedding, all bones. Now, i’m all meat, no bones. I prefer me now. But, truth be told – I don’t always adore me, swoon over me, oogle & ahhh over me, not everyday. Many days, but not all. And most women I know don’t either. Some days I can’t get past my bra size. I mean, when did my breasts become condos? Most of us wish we were thinner, tighter, taller; most of us see our imperfections way before we see any of our beauty, our magnificence. We were brought up to see, to notice, to obsess – obsess – on the imperfections, the flaws, the fault-lines, the unappealing, the unattractive, the crooked teeth, the big ass, the small breasts, the curly hair, the thick brows, the high waist, the short legs, the thin lips, the saggy lids.
We were raised on tall leggy blondes and bikini bodies.
If i had to lie down on the bed to zip up my skin tight jeans i was too fat.
The radical truth is this: we are all fucking gorgeous. We are all messy, and complicated, broken and chapped, chipped and cracked and edgy stunning creatures; our flaws & scars are our beauty marks.
Perfection is overrated.
We don’t win points or friends for perfection, and the awards & medals & accolades we receive are as temporary as our body weight.
So today love yourself.
Every fucking inch, head to toe. Love yourself. Love the excess. Love the sagging tits, love the lip-lines and the laugh lines and the panty lines.
And on the days you feel unattractive, or less than, or no one seems to notice you, pick up a compact mirror and look yourself in the eye, and say out-loud:
You’re mine and I wouldn’t trade you for the world.
You’re all so fucking magnificent.