Every time you turn around, it seems like someone is extolling the virtues of compliments. They’re good for your health! They build goodwill! They build confidence in both giver and recipient! All very true. (OK, not sure about the measurable health benefits, but there are probably some.) Still, doling out compliments can feel daunting. Where do you start? Who will be a willing recipient? What should you say?
Well in my opinion, you should:
- Start anywhere
- Assume everyone will be a willing recipient
- Say something genuine
That’s not specific enough? You’re still daunted? Right-o, here are some incredibly simple, training-wheel ideas to get you started:
Originally posted 2012-02-17 06:36:17.
Since you are, no doubt, your own harshest critic.
Since you often look at yourself and see a mass of flaws.
Since your body-centric frustrations seem impossible to shake off.
Since constant self-loathing can exhaust you into depression.
Since permission can be key to unlocking self-acceptance and forgiveness.
Since you are so much more glorious than you realize and so much more worthy than you know, I am giving you a pass.
Today, whenever you look at your thighs and wish they were smaller, look at your wrinkles and wish they were gone, look at your reflection and wish it was different, I want you to think of me. Think of me saying, “YOU! You’re amazing. You are a stunning, luminous creature of beauty and there is no one else like you in this big, beauty-filled world. I see exactly how gorgeous you are, and I celebrate you.”
Originally posted 2011-05-26 06:17:06.
My e-mail conversation with reader Lianne – the one that sparked a post on dressing with a touch of butch – unearthed a very personal issue for me. Personal, surprising, and definitely relevant, so I wanted to share my quirky little epiphany with you folks.
I hit puberty in the late 80s, and went through high school in the early 90s. Girls my age didn’t really do skirts and dresses back then, at least not in my area. It was all about jeans. Over-sized jeans. Baggy tops, too. And that suited me just fine because pretty much the moment I became aware of my body, I became self-conscious about it. I wasn’t slim or traditionally pretty, I couldn’t afford the schmancy baggy jeans that the popular girls wore, and even if I could have I wasn’t popular anyway so I’m sure I would’ve just taken flak for being a poseur. Boys mostly avoided me … or adored me from afar, then expressed their feelings in obnoxious and infantile ways that just irked me. And I was a smart, driven over-achiever, which made me the target of teasing from all sides. I did everything I could to be invisible, and over-sized clothes were instrumental in my quest to go unnoticed.
Originally posted 2011-06-27 06:25:21.