I complimented a friend of mine.  Hadn't seen in her for a few months but when I saw her she looked slim and glamorous.  She's the kind of woman who can make a hessian sheath dress look dazzling, a knack I am sadly without.  A few days later she wrote back and thanked me.  On the day I'd seen her, she said, she felt fat, frumpy and exhausted.

Why do we as women think so little of ourselves?  Why are we so quick to criticize?  Why, when someone does compliment us, do we try and deflect it?  Why are we never  physically good enough.  I would like to think I've given up chasing the brass ring of female perfection.  At 57 I will never look 27 again.  My skin will keep its wrinkles and splotches.  My hair will get greyer.  My figure will succumb to the dictates of gravity.  I know that.  Yet, despite logic and reason and cruel daylight observation confirming this, I do keep trying.  And do keep beating myself up for not attaining it. 

How others see me is a mystery.  This friend, bright, smart, energetic - I've envied her.  She's one day older than I but looks younger.  Around her I feel fat and frumpy.  She's tall and slim.  I am short and dumpy.  But what if I could get inside her head?  What if she saw me as curvaceous with good legs (got my mom's legs and they are good).  What if my light brown hair streaked with grey was a badge of honour, that I refused to get on that pitiable road of dyeing my hair.  How often do we see a woman of a certain advanced age with monochrome hair that sits on her head like an unhappy helmet?  What if she thought I had good bone structure or nice shoulders or great breasts?  What if she saw me as I was and didn't judge?  Like I see her.  I suppose envying her is judging.

What if we stopped placing so much importance on appearance?  Men are far more mature about this.  They accept the inevitable changes age brings without agonizing over what others think.  Sometimes I wish they would care a wee bit more, especially when I see a stomach proceeding the life support system which sustains it by a week.  Still, they have a much healthier attitude to self-image than women. 

The energy and thought time devoted to how we look, how we would like to look, how others think we look and what could be done to improve our looks is nothing compared to the inner critic which ensures we will never be good enough.  That critic is the dominant force.  Whose voice is it?  I didn't come from a family that verbally beat me up.  My parents, while not praising every tlittle thing, believed in my abilities to do well at whatever I turned my mind to.  Is it media or is it more subtle than that?  That women aren't as good as men, that women must use their looks (sexuality) to compete and therefore are judged on that.  I don't know.  But when I see the fragility of a handsome chic woman of a certain age, I know it's something all women need to change.