A gorgeous stranger was looking back at me.
I was standing in a fitting room in Calgary, wearing a black three-piece suit — jacket, vest, trousers, open back — and the woman in the mirror was someone I was very familiar with. And nothing like her at all.
I stared at her in awe. She was stunning.
But to understand why that moment broke me open, I have to go back.
The Mirror I Used to Know
My whole life, I've struggled with my style. Hiring stylists, asking friends, sticking to my favorite black and white basics, and trying to be more "feminine" — whatever that meant. I've struggled with my stick-straight baby fine hair since it started growing in. I've struggled with my body — too skinny, too bloated, too tall, too hard to find clothes for. I've struggled with how often people feel the need to comment on my physical appearance, taking in what they love and being wrecked by what they hate.
Just five years ago, you'd find me standing in the mirror wondering how my husband could love someone as ugly as me. I'd call myself the same names others had and comment on how boyish my figure was, how manly my face was, and how I'd never be able to move like the more feminine, sexy women in my life.
I was terribly mean to myself.
It wasn't until one day my husband said to me, "I hope one day you love yourself the way I love you."
My response: "I will. When I finally ____."
Fill in the blank with all the things I wanted to change about myself.
His response: "No. Just as you are."
Just As I Am
I sat with his loving, yet pointed response for a long time as I did deep work on myself. Healing wounds, trauma, self-inflicted cycles, patterns, and pains. And along the way, I found that I could love myself. As I was.
Not when I had a flatter tummy, better hairstyle, fewer wrinkles, or fancier clothes. When I decided.
It started small. One day I looked in the mirror and said, "Hey beautiful." That was it. The next day, I smiled and didn't pick apart my face. The day after that, I didn't try to contort my body to fit some external image of what I should look like.
It wasn't a trick. It was the truth. I had just never said it out loud before.
And wouldn't you know it — my inflammation started going down. My face got thinner. My muscles got stronger. My body started listening.
And I started listening to my body in return. It had been asking for love, respect, and grace this whole time. I just couldn't hear it over the sound of everything I was calling myself.
It was then that I began to realize: I am not my body. My body is a reflection of my inner world.
I found a barber to do a skin fade and a colorist to keep it platinum. I found that basics with a flare were more my thing. I started loving my body with every turn. Taking care of it and giving it what it needed to support me.
As my inner world changed, my outer world did too.
The Mirror in Calgary
Which brings me back to that fitting room.
I'd ended up in Calgary visiting people I'd only ever met online — and somehow found myself at a fashion show the day before a charity gala I'd been invited to. Because of course I was at a fashion show. Why wouldn't I be?
A tall woman walked past in a black suit with an open back on the jacket. I was in love.
After the show, I tried it on. And that's when I saw her.
With all the buzz around me — stylists pulling clothes, shoppers trying on new pieces — I stood there mystified at the woman staring back. A woman so comfortable in herself that she felt pure delight, wonder, and awe at her own reflection. A forty-five-year-old human body with her nervous system the most balanced it had ever been. The masculine and feminine so solidly intertwined and shining through. So proud of all she had weathered. Knowing nothing could take her down and everything was in front of her.
I saw myself launching this next project. Signing books. Walking the red carpet. Surrounded by people who love me, cheering me on for being willing to let go of everything I'd built in order to sing my soul's song with humility, grace, and presence.
I saw myself as I really am.
The woman who has big aspirations, a loving soul family, and a powerful vision for how she can support others on their own way home to themselves. The woman I'd been becoming after shedding twenty-five years of titles that had built my identity. The woman who had just done a freefall, crashed her ego into the ground, and shattered it into millions of pieces — only to watch it disintegrate into the earth.
The woman who was willing to look at every part of herself and share it vulnerably. Not for accolades. But to show others it could be done with grace and love.
I found her. My muse. The woman who would take me into this next chapter. Who would hold my hand, lift me up, and remind me that I was built for this.
What I Hope for You
I hope you look in the mirror and tell the person staring back about the magical being they really are. Because you are worthy of stepping more fully into you.
I am you. You are me. We are we.
I love you.
PSST. I've got something powerful to share with you soon. If you've been seeing yourself in these words, in these feelings, in this heart — what's coming was written for you. For me. For us. Stay close.
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