The Way I See Other Women Isn’t the Way I See Myself

I’ve started to notice something about myself that I can’t unsee anymore.

I don’t see beauty in other women the way I see it in myself.

When I look at a curvy woman, I don’t add conditions. I don’t think “for her size.” I don’t analyze her body or pick it apart. I just see her. I see her confidence, her presence, her softness. The way she carries herself. The way something just works on her.

I’ll even think, she looks so good in that… I would look good in that.

And I mean it.

There’s no hesitation in that moment. No second guessing. It feels true.

But the moment I put it on?

“Oh no… ew… uh uh. I’m not wearing this.”

It’s instant. There’s no pause. No curiosity. No grace.

Just rejection.

And what’s wild is, in that moment, it’s not even about other people yet. It’s just me. My own voice. My own reaction. My own conditioning showing up before I even have a chance to think.

Because if I slow it down… I can see it.

There’s a split second before that reaction where I actually believe I’ll look good. Where I can see myself the same way I see other women. Where there are no rules, no qualifiers, no “for her size.”

There’s a moment where I’m free of all of that.

And then something takes over.

And I’ve talked before about how much of this comes from a lifetime of feeling watched… of learning to see myself through other people’s eyes.

Years of comments. Comparisons. Subtle messages about what is acceptable and what isn’t. The fear of being seen and measured. The idea that softness is beautiful… just not on me.

And I’ve lived in that space for a long time.

Constantly aware of my body. Thinking about my chin more than I want to admit.

And if I’m being honest… it’s not even my body most days.

It’s my face.

I could deal with the way my body looks if my face felt different.

That’s the thought that comes up more than I’d like to admit.

I’m constantly pulling things up to my chin to cover my neck, even when I’m alone. It’s just habit at this point.

I hate catching a glimpse of my face from underneath. That angle will ruin my mood instantly.

I’m always thinking about pictures. Where I’m standing. How I’m positioned. Making sure the angle is right before anyone even takes it.

It’s exhausting how much space it takes up in my mind.

At the same time, something else has been happening.

I’ve been surprising myself.

There are moments now where I feel sexy. Moments where I feel beautiful. Moments where I catch myself accepting my body in a way I never did before… even in a body I once feared becoming.

And that’s new.

Because I used to be in a smaller body and still struggled just as much. I was trying to fix myself then too. Trying to earn something I thought I didn’t have yet. Trying to get to a place where I could finally feel good enough.

But that place never came.

So this isn’t really about my body changing.

It’s about the way I see myself.

And I’m starting to question that.

I’m starting to notice that I already know how to see beauty without conditions. I do it every day when I look at other women. I just haven’t fully allowed that same lens to apply to me.

Lately, I’ve been pushing myself in small ways.

Buying clothes I would normally talk myself out of. Letting them hang in my closet instead of immediately rejecting them. Trying them on more than once. Giving myself a moment before the “oh no” takes over.

Letting that first voice have a little more space.

And slowly… it’s helping me come back to myself.

Not perfectly. Not all the time.

There are still moments of frustration. Moments in the dressing room where nothing feels right. Moments where I miss what used to be easy.

But there are also moments where I stay.

Where I don’t immediately shut it down. Where I can see myself a little more clearly. Where I can feel something softer instead of critical.

And that matters.

Because it tells me something is shifting.

Enough to notice.

Enough to question.

Enough to realize that maybe the first voice… the one that says “I would look good in that”… was never the problem.

Maybe that was the truth all along.

Maybe this is just another layer of unlearning what it means to be seen.