I know a substantial portion of this blog promotes the fact that life is not a fairy tale.  However, I do own something that is quite enchanting, and even a bit mystical.  Like the Evil Queen in Snow White, I too have a magic mirror hanging on my wall.

What makes the mirror magical?  For starters, when I stare into it, I don’t always see my exact reflection staring back.  I often see a woman who is bigger than me, and much less attractive.  This woman’s clothes never look right, and her face always looks tired and worried.  The reflection is confusing and quite hazy.  Yet…it’s definitely me.

The mirror talks to me as well.  It tells me I’m fat, ugly and sometimes worthless.  It mocks my thunder thighs, cankles, and flabby underarms.  It takes cheap shots at the winkles on my forehead and graying hair.  It ridicules my looks and then blames them for pretty much everything that is wrong with my life, especially my single status.

Isn’t it supposed to be telling me I’m the fairest one of all?  What a piece of shit.

I think a lot of woman own this same magic mirror, whether it be hanging in their closet, over the bathroom sink, or tucked away in their purse.  How do we all own mirrors with such bad attitudes?  And why aren’t we brave enough to just punch the face in this snarky mirror and walk away?  (Probably because we know this action will break the mirror and bring us seven years of bad luck… and a whole new set of problems.)

Mirror, Mirror on the wall, why do you hate me so?

But seriously, why are so many beautiful, intelligent, accomplished women, (including myself), so messed up when it comes to their looks and self-esteem?

For instance, take my friend, Nancy.  Now I love Nancy to death.  What’s not to love?  She’s absolutely gorgeous, always vibrant, overly generous, so kind, and one of the funniest people I know.  Nancy is just this bright light that everybody wants to be around.  However, whenever I’m around Nancy, it becomes a competition of who looks worse.

Nancy:  Don’t look at me today.  I’m huge.

Tracy:  You look great!  I, on the other hand, look like a linebacker.

Nancy:  Stop!  You look amazing.  I look like I’ve eaten a small dwarf.

Tracy:  Please!  I look like I’m wearing a trash bag.

Nancy:  Hardly!  You look adorable.  Unfortunately, they don’t make that dress in my size.

Tracy:  Shut up!  This dress would look great on you.  Especially with your thin arms and skinny legs.  (Sigh.)  I wish I had skinny legs, as opposed to these two massive tree stumps.

Nancy:  Your legs are fine!  And at least your legs are not as white as mine are.

Tracy:  Are you kidding me?  My legs are so white, their blinding!  My legs are definitely whiter than yours!

Nancy:  They are not!

Tracy:  They are too!

Nancy:  Are not!

Tracy:  Are too!

And scene.

I know.  I want to bitch-slap the both of us as well.  That was an actual conversation between two good-looking, successful, adult women.  And note, we’re not competing over who looks better, we’re competing over who looks worse.  WTF!  Insecurity, party of two.

When did life become such a competition?  I guess the better question is, when has life not been a competition?  I feel like I’ve been the last runner up in a beauty pageant since grade school.  And as if high school wasn’t bad enough, I was surprised to find out that it only gets worse as we get older.

For instance, when I first became a marketing manager, I was in my mid-twenties and in a region of approximately ten other women who shared the same position.

FUN FACT: Only one out of every ten marketing managers is NOT tall, blonde and built like a supermodel.

I was that one marketing manager.  Short, round and red-headed – I was the runt of the litter!  However, I did notice that while all the other blonde beauties became fast rivals, no one felt I was a threat.  Everyone loved Tracy…except for Tracy.

Through the course of my adult life, I have been a size 0 and a size 14, (and everything in between).  I’ve weighed 110 pounds and I’ve weighed 175 pounds, (and everything in between).  Yet, here’s the weird thing, it didn’t matter which size I was or how much I weighed – the reflection in that damn mirror was always distorted.

Growing up, I was both a dancer and a competitive swimmer.  I was fairly good at both, but I never truly enjoyed either because I was always so insecure about wearing skimpy costumes and revealing swimsuits, (which, compared to today’s standards, were actually quite conservative).  Dance recitals were a nightmare, as I was the only child who was not a stick figure.  And, taking my mark to race the freestyle was terrifying, as my “hippo” hips were exposed for the world to see.

I was at my heaviest in college.  I took the “Freshman Fifteen” to heart.  I saw an additional fifteen pounds, and then raised it by an additional forty.  (I have always been an overachiever.)  To hide the extra weight, I would cover myself with clothing much larger than my actual size.

FUN FACT: Wearing clothing 3 times your size DOES NOT make you look smaller.

I’m that girl who has tried every diet known to man and every diet fad imaginable.  I consider Jenny Craig a close friend.  Both NutriSystem and Slim Fast have lived in my pantry.  Cleanses, pills, teas…

FUN FACT: Dietary teas help you lose weight because they contain a LAXATIVE!  Drink with caution and never stray too far from a restroom.  (I learned this one the hard way.)

Ironically, when I did finally lose the baby/teen/college weight, I wasn’t dieting at all.  And, for the first time in my life, I wasn’t spending every waking, aching moment stressing about my size, my looks, and what others thought of me.  I was so distracted by being out in the “real” world and proving myself at work, the weight literally fell off.  And it stayed off…until I turned forty.

Oh forty.  How I love to hate you.

Now, I don’t think my weight gain happened solely because I turned forty.  I didn’t wake up on my fortieth birthday ten pounds heavier.  (Although, I’ve told people I did.)  Things in my life had changed.  My body had changed.  My level of anxiety had changed.  When I was younger and stressed, I would lose my appetite, (which, I’m sorry to say, was awesome and a great way to stay thin).  When I got older, the opposite happened, and the stress would make me eat my body weight in ice cream and potato chips, while drinking several gallons of wine…all at one time.

The funny thing was, after I turned forty, I once again became that unconfident kid, standing awkwardly in a tutu, embarrassed by how I looked and what was different about me.  I was so consumed by my changing appearance, I once again stopped enjoying life and just wanted to hide.

Luckily, I’ve since come to my senses and have started reprogramming my mirror…and myself.

I took matters into my own hands and started seeing a personal trainer, who now tries to kill me on a weekly basis.  She has also tried to put me on a strict eating plan designed for athletes, to which I told her I am 43 years old, I’m not training for the Olympics, I’m just trying to get up the stairs at work without doubling over.  The training has helped me realize how strong I am.  And, even though I stray from the egg whites/non-fat plain Greek yogurt/brown rice meal plan, I’ve started focusing on eating better…and limiting my alcohol consumption to merely one gallon per sitting.

The one thing I have noticed since I started working out and on myself – the reflection in the mirror doesn’t look half bad, and her comments have been muted.

In an era of endless selfies and constant self- promotion, it’s hard to ignore how shallow society has become, and it’s even harder to not get caught up in the competition.  If I have to look at one more image of Kim Kardashian’s ass or Kourtney Kardashian in a bikini or Khloe Kardashian in her underwear…I think I’m going to hurl.  But, I do think every woman should invest in whichever brand magic mirror they are using…it’s clearly more supportive and encouraging than the average woman’s mirror.

I know it’s difficult to NOT compare ourselves to others, and it’s even more challenging NOT to tear ourselves down.  But, at some point, it just needs to stop.

Accept yourself.  Be kind to yourself.  Be grateful for your body and your health.  Be proud of who you are.

And if that mirror is still giving you an attitude…tell it to shut the fuck up!