My partner adores my appearance. If asked to describe me, he would say I have thick, platinum hair that cascades in waves. He would assert that makeup is unnecessary; my blue eyes hold enough mysteries and playful glimmers to illuminate my face. He particularly loves my lips, claiming they are cherry-red and could serve as the ideal model for Cupid’s bow.
He finds my waist appealing and appreciates the gentle curve of my belly. My breasts are full, beautifully proportioned to my hips, and my legs are long, tapering down to delicate ankles. Whether in flats or heels, my slim feet always look stunning. I embody voluptuousness and softness.
He cannot get enough of me. He delights in my shapely figure, the way my curves fit perfectly in his hands, and how my hair curls around his face during our kisses. He enjoys watching me walk away, and I cherish the feeling of his gaze upon me.
His perception of me is so captivating that I start to believe it myself. When he tells me I’m beautiful, I feel empowered, fierce, and womanly. I move with grace, seeing myself through his eyes. My genuine smile radiates joy, and my laughter reveals the character of my spirit. My body sways gently with every step, my breasts held high with pride. The contours of my form are soft, my shoulders blending seamlessly into the strength of my arms, shaped by the experience of motherhood.
Yet, I often find myself startled when I catch my reflection. I expect to see the alluring figure he describes, but instead, I’m faced with a woman who feels disconnected from that image. I question where the truth lies—within his mind or mine?
The sight in the mirror sends a pang of disappointment through me, akin to the shame I felt as a child when I broke my mother’s cherished china serving tray, a family heirloom. I remember her reaction—her gasp, the pain in her eyes, and the realization that I had let her down. That same rush of disappointment lodges in my throat whenever I glance in the mirror. The woman staring back seems a mere shadow of the captivating partner I aspire to be.
I don’t see a vibrant force of nature; I see an ordinary suburban mother. My hair, while nice, lies flat against my scalp, now more brown than blonde due to the changes brought on by pregnancy. My eyes, though striking cornflower blue, are framed by lashes that require mascara to stand out. My cheeks are pleasantly rounded, but my lips are chapped from neglect. My skin is average at best, beginning to show the signs of aging with a deep line forming between my brows.
I am more than just voluptuous; I’m more than curves. My waist, now impacted by leftover baby weight, spills over when I sit, while my belly bears the marks of motherhood—silvery lines from stretching and a scar from a surgery that was crucial for my children’s well-being. My breasts, though full, have sagged from nursing three kids. My legs, though long, carry additional weight, and my thighs touch when I walk. Heels are a rarity for me.
Reconciling the reality of my body with the image my partner holds is a daily struggle. Yet, I admire the woman he loves. She is the person I aspire to be. I choose her—the reflection in my partner’s eyes—over the one in the mirror. And that defiance is what makes me strong.
For those interested in the journey of home insemination, check out this excellent resource that provides valuable insights. Additionally, you can find information on intracervical insemination and trusted products like the Cryobaby Home Intracervical Insemination Syringe Kit to assist you in your family planning journey.
Summary:
This reflective piece explores the disconnect between self-image and the perception of beauty seen through the eyes of a partner. While the author grapples with feelings of inadequacy when seeing her reflection, she ultimately chooses to embrace the woman her partner loves, asserting her strength and femininity.