By BRIDGETTE WHITE
My first reaction is shock.
Who took this hideous picture of me?
Self-loathing and disgust swell up and threaten to bring me to tears.
Just as I am about to hit delete, my boy walks in the room.
“Do you know anything about this picture?” I ask him.
I turn the screen so he can see it. He smiles huge.
“I took that of you in Tahoe,” he says. “You looked so beautiful laying there. I couldn’t help it mum.”
“You need to ask me before using my phone to take pictures,” I say.
“I know,” he says. “But mum, seriously, look how pretty you look”
I look at the picture again and try to see what he sees.
My daughter walks over and takes a look.
“That could be a postcard mum,” she says smiling. “You’re so beautiful. I love it.”
I take a deep breath.
This is exactly what I needed.
My default mode is to see and focus on the flaws and imperfections. I’m starting to see a bit more.
I still see my dimply, fat thighs.
I also see a mum collapsed on the shore who just explored the lake for hours with her children.
I still see chubby arms.
I also see the arms of a mum that just helped her kids across the rocks and hot sand so their feet wouldn’t hurt.
