26/08/2025
Since becoming a mother to a daughter, Iāve thought a lot about how much of a womanās worth is still tied to her appearance.
It makes me shudder that the highest compliment we give a woman is that sheās āpretty.ā I look back at myself, six days a week at the gym, starving my body, botox at 25, and I ache. Not just for me, but for every woman whoās twisted herself into knots trying to be āenough.ā
The irony is, even when I did fit the āmouldā, size 8, perfect skin, shiny blonde hair, I never felt beautiful. Not once. Because beauty was never there.
The most beautiful I have ever felt? It wasnāt when I was my smallest or most put together. It was with a big pregnant belly, in my true feminine form, carrying life, creating life, nourishing life. Sitting on the couch at 5am, sunrise glowing into the room, a brand new baby in my arms. That was beauty.
We forget that aging is a privilege. Every line on our face, every change in our body, is proof that weāve lived, that weāve loved, that weāve survived.
When I think of the people I adore most, I donāt think of their toned body or wrinkle free skin. I think of their laugh that fills a room. Their wisdom. Their kindness. The way their presence softens a space.
And when our time is done, no one will stand at our funeral and say, āShe had perky b***s and smooth skin.ā Theyāll remember how we made them feel. That is beauty.
And more than anything, I hope Iām raising a daughter who loves herself exactly as she is. Who treasures her curious, smart mind, her quick wit and her laugh, her smile and sparkly eyes. Who knows thatās enough and never feels she has to contort herself to fit an ever changing definition of beauty.
