In the land of women, it is simply not okay to give yourself an out loud compliment. Not without a manicured buffet of apologies and qualifiers and modifiers and fuck(!) I-didn’t-mean-to-let-that-self-promotion-slip self-judgment.

“I, Jodi Dey, am gorgeous. No question. Stunning. And smart, too. Woooo… I’ve got some sharpness that’s surely enviable. My skin is uncomfortably soft, hair naturally thick, smooth, long, healthy. The fact is…I’m attractive. Men love my long legs and slender waist…” (Am I making you uncomfortable yet?)

I have a friend who is completely happy to give herself compliments. “The boys,” she oozed one Sunday. “They are all are in love with me.” I nearly choked up my tofu-salad and waited for her to take it back. Or at least have the decency to add a “just kidding” or SOMETHING. But no. She stared right back at me… (I think she may have been waiting for me to coo, Oh of course they are, Gorgeous-One. You’re a knockout.)

Blatant self-promotion and it made my skin start to swim.

But the fact of the matter is: the pendulum has too long sat on the self-deprecating side of self-talk. We encourage it in each other, don’t we? We oooooze with support when a galfriend rips herself apart… into pieces, conveniently sized for her mobile garbage can. You are NOT fat! We tell her. You are beautiful! So much prettier than HER. And she feels better for a time, mends herself into a seemingly whole human being until her next day of slaughter.

I think this is crap, ladies. Utter crap.

The real problem is, the damaging remarks that we make out loud about ourselves is only a chip of the iceberg to what we are convincing and reminding ourselves everyday in every way. Too fat here, blemished there, incompetent some, worthy not. When do we ever look at ourselves in the mirror and generally soak in all the beauty, the uniqueness, the combination of oddities that make us incredible? When? When? When?

I have never. I would think myself a fool, mutter compliments to myself under my breath. What would I say? Where would I start?

Today… right fucking now… I am resolved to start. Foolish I might feel, for sure. But no more as foolish as I feel when I avoid mirrors, suck in while being photographed, and generally cut out, cover up and ignore all my so-called flaws.  

It’s time to muscle that pendulum to a healthier position. So here it goes…

I, Jodi Dey, am fabulous…