Well here it is Sunday morning again.

Me, in front of my iMac.

And you, hopefully with your feet up on the sun porch with a fresh cup of good coffee.

Hunker down, friends.

Because I really want you to hear what I have to say today.

Lately I have been in this swirling vortex of self-loathing.

About a month ago, I got hit with a massive fork in the road, and have to come up with thousands of dollars….very quickly.

I applied for a line of credit…and was denied.

Even a decade after claiming bankruptcy from a financially devastating immigration fiasco and divorce, apparently I have still not recovered.

Meh to that.

Unfortunately with yours truly, once I feel defeated in one area, I start beating myself up in others.

So besides cussing my credit line, I start in on my degenerating physique.

A few years of pain and stress have taken their cruel toll on my body…and it shows.

I am not proud of it. Or even comfortable with it.

I am finally starting to get wrinkles.

I can actually count the grey hairs.

I have put on several pounds. More like several dozen.

And it is all too easy to look at myself in the mirror and bash.

Will you ever be out of this money pit?

Holy crap woman, that tummy has grown its own tummy!

One more rogue lip hair and you’ll look like Magnum P.I.!

Yikes, my forehead is starting to look like a bad EKG.

Lady, are those breasts or goat teats?


I am my own internet troll.

With friends like these, who needs enemies? Because no one criticizes me more than I criticize myself.

But I suspect we are all guilty of this.

Even those blessed with youthful skin, perfect credit, and the breasts of a Swedish supermodel can always seem to find something wrong with themselves.

Why is that?

Why do we look at ourselves and see the flaws instead of the beauty?

We would never dish out such cruelty to our friends or our family. So why do we do it to ourselves?

Last week I saw a photo of myself from six years ago. And I actually thought to myself for a split second:

Wow that woman looks a lot like me. Oh sweet baby Jesus…that is me.

So that evening, I stared at myself in the mirror. I stood there forever just looking at myself. I stared at myself for so long that I actually started to not look like myself anymore.

And after a while, my lip started to quiver. Then my eyes welled up with tears.

I cried. And by cried I mean I bawled.

To my self-critical eye, I looked as though I had aged 20 years. I had put back on all of the weight I had lost after the divorce. The lifeless hair. The dark circles.

I just looked haggard.

And as the self-hating script started to flail out of control, I said to myself, out loud, “STOP IT.”

And before I knew it, Tony Robbins had possessed my body and I was dang near yelling at my own reflection.

I pointed my finger straight at myself in the mirror and I said, “You have been through the fire, woman!  You are a Phoenix! You have raised two incredible kids, and you have a kicked some major butt! You are a beast! You have a bigger village than anyone!  You have the spirit of a warrior! You have bested corporate giants! Who gives a flying fart about wrinkles or what you weigh? You are so much more than this! You are spectacular!”

By this time both kids and the dog were standing in the doorway looking at me.


But you know what? I hugged all 3 of them. I would much rather them hear me cheerleading myself, than berating myself any day.

So this morning, I woke up to make my coffee and peruse social media before I started writing.

And I saw that my brother from another mother, Jason, had posted this video to Facebook this morning. Take a few minutes to watch this, and listen to how these women view themselves:

This is heartbreaking, isn’t it?

Would you let your best friend talk about himself/herself this way? Or your sibling? Or moreover…your daughter?

Yet we say these things to ourselves and about ourselves every single day.

This needs to stop.

Right. Friggin. Now.

And it is going to start with me.

Whenever I hear my inner monologue starting in on the tribal boobies and the chin hairs and the careening waist line…I am going to stop it. And then I will say it out loud:


Now I want you to join me.

When you start criticizing your flabby arms and the tiny savings account and the cankles and the Peter Gallagher eyebrows…I want you to stop it. Then say this outloud:

“Stop that! I am kind and strong and beautifully me!”

Keep going, my little Tony Robbins minions.

Next I want us to start correcting and admonishing the negative self talk around us.

You know the person already, don’t you?

That person who is constantly insulting himself/herself.

When you hear that person berating away, step in and say, “I think you are awesome, now give me a hug!”

Because hear me now, folks.

We all have our lines.

Forehead lines.

Credit lines.

Hair lines.

Waist lines.

Finish lines.

Let’s start a revolution, and forget all that crapola.

The only lines we need are either coloring outside of or reading between.

Join me, will you?

We’ll all be a lot happier for it.














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