Female competition

Last week, on a whim, I slipped into a dress that has been hanging out in my closet for about 20 years. This dress, though possibly out of style, is rather sexy. In fact, the one night that I wore this dress was perhaps the one and only time that Tom would not leave my side for even a minute. Perhaps this is the reason that I never could seem to part with it –though I never could seem to get in to it either.

I’m am not exactly sure why I even reached for the dress. Maybe it was the wine. But, when the dress magically fit, I felt all Runner Susan about it and had to take a few pictures. In the event that this dress never fits me again, I’ll have proof that on this particular night it did — not that anyone will care but me.

I find it interesting that these sorts of things matter to me right now.  In the oddest way, this dress is symbolic of something far more than a middle-aged woman fitting into an old dress.  Perhaps the following will explain my view.

The vibrant yet very shy Juls of her mid-20’s did not have a lot of confidence when it came to female competition (unless it was running related).  She was one who would bow out of the game and slink off into a corner licking her wounds of insecurity and jealously.  It was a huge step for her to brave appearing in the dress and, because she did, she experienced for the first time a level of confidence which allowed her to stand proudly beside her man and not worry that June Cleavage was flirting with him. It didn’t matter.

If there is one thing that I continue to struggle with it is female competition (conscious or not).  It is the reason I hovered over the other gal’s twitter page even though I knew it wasn’t good for me to do so.  Instead of comparing dresses, I compared the level of happiness expressed in the other gal’s tweets.  Just as before, the response was to slink away and lick my wounds.  It’s not right.  It is NOT a competition.

I am who I am.  Whether I chose to wear jeans, running shorts, or a sexy dress, if a man isn’t wild about me as I am, then he isn’t the one for me.  I am more than just a pretty face; I am a whole person.  Love me or leave me but, let’s just be clear, I’m done feeling less-than-fabulous.  I am absolutely fabulous and don’t you forget it!