I, like many others out there, am my own worst critic.  This isn’t news to the 5 of you who read this and know me.  I can tear myself down quicker than a child ripping open a present on Christmas morning.  I defend this as a way to build myself up – I can be brutally honest with myself, and then figure out what needs to change or happen, what my next steps might be.  Most observers just see it as uncomfortable and overly-harsh.  And, as I’m sure more than a few of you could point out, I am often critical, with no follow-through, no next steps.  Just self-deprecation.

I bring this all up because lately I have been feeling a lack of self.  A loss of who I am, or at least, once was.  I used to be an artist, I used to be driven and engaged and creative and funky.  I used to have style, albeit a little strange.  I felt like all of my pieces fit together correctly.  Which is funny, because I don’t feel like I’ve ever felt that way, but looking back, it seems that that is who Becky of 5  or 8 years ago was.  So what changed?  I’m not sure.  Was it getting a desk job?  Turning away from the world of an artist?  That may have been a step towards this, whatever this is.  This feeling of not fitting in my own skin.

Another big change is Calliope.  73 days ago, I gave birth to a baby girl.  The most beautiful baby girl.  She is incredible and I love her more than I can even imagine putting into words.  And I had 9 months to prepare for this life change, of becoming a mother.  But I never thought about what it would mean to be a mother to a girl.  I suddenly realize what a task it could be, to raise a girl in this society, to teach her that being skinny, being blond, being all those things that the media tells us we need to be is just not so.  That beauty can be defined and imagined in countless ways.  That self-worth comes from within, not from what anyone else ever says.  These thoughts, these weighty thoughts swirl around my head as I tell her how beautiful she is, as I kiss her cheeks and pinch at her chubby little thighs.  And I realize that to be that momma, to be the momma who can instill confidence and worth, I need to feel those things about myself.  I need to work out whatever this feeling of lack is, and change it, turn it on it’s head.  I need to teach by example.  And never in my life has something seemed so important.  I want nothing more than for my daughter to grow up healthy, in every sense of the word, of knowing full well that she is worth any dream she could possibly imagine.  To never limit herself.  And so, I need to understand that about myself.  To stop limiting myself.  To get off my lazy ass and start, whatever that entails.

And today, I did.  I took a first step.  A small step, but one forward, which is the only way to go.  Today I took her shopping.  Not at a big box store, not at the mall, where all the trends are set, where a season is defined by what’s “hot”.  No, we went to a thrift store.  I picked out a few random pieces of clothing, she helped me decide which seemed right for me, and then we were done.  My whole life I shopped at thrift stores.  Going to one was a special time for my mum and I, and I grew up loving them.  But somewhere in the last 5 years I lost that desire to go hunting for finds.  I’ve been taking the easy way out, letting the shiny store windows tell me what to wear.  But no more.  This love of thrift stores is something I want to pass down to my daughter, and it started today.