Dear Starbucks Girl: I'm Sorry.
She sits down at the table diagonal from me, laptop and coffee in hand, and I don't know why, but immediately the litany starts
Is she prettier than me? Skinnier? Is dressed better? Do her clothes look newer? What is she studying? Is her makeup done? Does her hair look better?
I reign myself in, as I see another girl, sitting diagonal from her, eyeing her as well. Like this unknown brown-haired girl is somehow a threat to our existence. Do I cease to exist when there is a girl who is prettier or skinnier or smarter or more outgoing?
I don't know when it started, this crippling need to compare. To condemn myself at the hands of another girl's strengths. It is there, though, creating this automatic defense against and degradation of any girl that comes close to me. The thought, over and over again, that I have to be better or else I am unworthy has embedded itself into my brain and it is now my choice how I deal with it.
So, I will deposit that thought somewhere else, and appreciate that she is loved by You and move on.
And that I am loved by You, too.
Then, I will turn myself to the Love that does not compare and does not condemn, but rather accepts and lifts up and creates in me something that shines beyond any outward appearance.