The Pole Dancing Lawyer, the Cheesemaker and Me
My friend’s a pole dancing lawyer. That’s right. Pole dancing…lawyer.
This MILfy little elfin creature elegantly glides her tiny, agile body around the pole while discussing criminal law legislation with her husband, who’s also a lawyer. Actually, I don’t know if that ever happens, but it would be cool. She also has about a zillion kids (3 kids), and a stomach you could cut potatoes on (or grate cheese, whatever floats your boat).
I have another friend, who’s as hot as feck, and she is an amazing singer who performs at live gigs, a brilliant teacher by day, and a mother of two. She does strange things like makes her own cheese and upholsters furniture on the side. Not only that, but she’d also give the shirt off her own back to help someone, even strangers. She’s like Mother Teresa in heels.
These two women could easily stir jealous emotions, but for what purpose? Having gorgeous, talented friends takes nothing away from me. Being envious is not going to make me a brilliant pole dancer, or a stunning singer. I’m proud of them for shining in their own glorious way, which is quite different to mine.
I think they’re tops, and I think I’m tops. Am I allowed to admit that I include myself in the list of women I support and love? That said, I haven’t always been as happy with myself.
In my early twenties, I had a tendency to belittle myself – particularly when meeting new people. If someone asked me what I did, I’d reply “I’m just a waitress”, and would quickly change the subject so it was about them, not me. Many years and a university degree later, nothing had changed. “I’m just an accountant,” I’d say, often shrugging to prove that I didn’t dare think highly of myself.
The truth is, I was never ‘just’ a waitress, nor am I ‘just’ an accountant. I’m a blunt, sarcastic, firey, intelligent, honest, crazy, authentic, heart-driven woman. I’ve made approximately a gizillion mistakes, but I don’t carry them around with me. I’m pretty damn proud of myself for who I am and like it here within my own skin.
Charles Bukowski once wrote, “I’ve never met a man I’d rather be. And even if that’s a delusion, it’s a lucky one.” I’m not a man (hopefully that’s obvious), but it’s a beautiful quote that really resonates.
I don’t know where lack of self-love or jealousy stems from, but the two seem somewhat interrelated. If we focus on being OK with loving ourselves, maybe we can love other women more easily, too.
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