My Life Got So Much Better When I Stopped Worrying if I Were Good-Looking & Assumed I Was Average

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Image by Pixabay / CC 0

I mentioned this a bit in an earlier post, but one of the most helpful things I ever did was to stop worrying if I were good-looking. Instead, I started to just assume I was average.

If people compliment my appearance, I thank them and leave it at that. No need to argue like I’m Jimmy Stewart lecturing an old-timey movie courtroom.  » Read more

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Huh. Unattractive People Overestimate Their Attractiveness; Attractive People Underestimate Theirs.

a yellow flower wilting next to a mirror
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I can’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to a super attractive friend or romantic partner tell me they looked like crap.  Or asked for reassurance that they looked okay — when in fact, they looked stunning.

This kind of behavior can actually be a little trying. It can come off as a disingenuous form of attention-seeking.  » Read more

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Feeling Bad About My Imperfections Did Me More Harm Than My Imperfections Ever Did

The face of a woman, including a stone wall
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If I want to think of a time when my inner thoughts weren’t self-critical, I have to think back very far. Practically to a point where life was largely non-verbal, and I don’t remember too much aside from images. The warmth of sunlight on my face. The view of my own tiny stockinged feet shoved into full-body pajamas.  » Read more

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What You’re Doing When You Criticize Yourself In Front of Other People

a finger pointing towards the camera with a 1-star review behind it
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“Wow, that came out beautiful,” I said. “What glaze combo did you use?”

“You’re kidding, right?” the other potter replied.

“Ummm…. no,” I said. I laughed nervously.

She turned to her friend, started talking with him about everything that was “wrong” with her stunning dishes, pointedly ignoring me.

I sheepishly picked up my comparatively janky little beginner pieces.  » Read more

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Sleeping with the Enemy: On Women Dating Women While Still Viewing Them as Competition

a pink measuring tape on a wavy patterned white cloth background
Image by gina pina / CC BY

“Keep your top on,” she said.

“Sure,” I said, dropping my arms to my sides and then quickly wrapping them around her waist. And as we kissed, I moved my hands up her torso, feeling her body through her shirt. Her chest had its own topography. Subtle places where she came in. Went out.  » Read more

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“I Wish I Had Your Confidence”

I smoothed down the black silk over my full hips, noting the high slit. Good for movement and enticing without being trashy, I decided. The lace had held up well in storage, those months this slip had spent in a kind of time-out, awaiting a weight loss that would allow it to fit again.  I adjusted the straps and made sure my breasts lined up in a logical way with the bust area.  » Read more

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Attack of the Killer Cleavage

Camis (camisoles) are typically pretty handy for cleavage concealment (crucial in most office settings), and while I admit that they do help mitigate the effect, I find that I will often have residual cleavage peeking out from beneath the cami. It would appear that even my cleavage has cleavage – like some demented recursive Escher funhouse of boobs.  » Read more

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Wind at My Back

I didn’t stop. I focused on my breath, my counting, pressed down harder on the pavement, letting the tension propel my body forward.

The neighbor dude was boring holes into me with his eyes, gaping, his face clearly reading an expression of disbelief. It could have been one of any number of reasons.  » Read more

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