Once in awhile, I wonder what kind of living I could make as a stripper. The whole routine is worked out in my mind. I come out completely naked and people pay me to put my clothes back on! It’s a money maker for sure.

Seriously though, it isn’t just us larger women wanting to keep fully covered. Recently, a skinny friend of mine related her horror story of trying on swimsuits. Apparently, she noticed a new dimple in her derriere. (Had she been counting them?) While hardly a threat to national security, it was a threat to something almost as important: Her self esteem.

S-E-L-F E-S-T-E-E-M. 10 unassuming, little letters hold so much power over women. The reason? We don’t seem to have any. If only we could buy it on E-Bay®.

Actually, I thought I had some once...back in 1984. Then a stranger told me I was ugly and the feeling quickly passed. It was just some callous, teenage boy who uttered the words in passing. Sadly, that’s all it took. I guess your armor is rather thin when you’re a teenage girl.

Now, at the ripe old age of 38, I’ve outgrown many things. Some of them I can live without, like painful shyness. Others are more benign, like my taste for eggnog and candy corn. However, the one thing I can’t seem to outgrow entirely is the feeling that my butt looks big in whatever pants I’m wearing.

But if we were really that undesirable, the human race would have died off a long time ago. My friend with the dimpled cheeks managed somehow to get married. That’s right. Despite her being hideous, there is a man who loves her very much. And you know what? He likes her rear end just the way it is. He also doesn’t think she’s fat, or ugly, or any of the other things she accuses herself of being every time she tries on a swimsuit. Imagine that! Could it possibly be that someone loves us just the way we are?

Honestly, it’s not really a man’s fault that we spend two hours getting dressed and another hour doing our hair. Ladies, we all know we dress for other women. Your husband or boyfriend really doesn’t care if your toenail polish matches your sandals. They don’t even care if you’ve shaved your legs today.

So where does this bad self image come from? I guess I could blame my parents. They’re always an easy target. After all, I wasn’t really hugged enough. But wait a minute. My deskmate at work had loving, affectionate parents. She still thinks she needs to lose ten pounds.

What about the media? It’s impossible not to feel like a failure while looking through magazines at the supermarket checkout lane. Page after page of anorexic models mock me while I wait to buy potato chips and Ding Dongs.

Then there’s Barbie®. We all remember that lovely pile of plastic from our childhoods. She was impossibly tall, with perky breasts and a constant smile. I suppose I could hate Barbie® for damaging my psyche. Instead, I choose to feel sorry for her. Imagine the lower back pain awaiting her from years of being stuck in the high-heeled position. Still, I might feel much better about myself if they’d come out with the 50-year-old, arthritic, artificial knee Barbie®.

Let’s not forget about genetics. This is certainly to blame for why I have my grandma’s incredibly wide knee bones. It also explains why so many women in my family are shaped like guitar cases. Perhaps there’s a genetic predisposition for feeling bad about your body too. This makes perfect sense. A low self-esteem gene, found only in women. After all, nobody really knows for certain what that “X” chromosome’s all about.

Whatever the reason for feeling bad about ourselves, there is one thing I do know. Satisfaction with who you are doesn’t come from the outside world. No one will ever feel better because a man tells them they’re beautiful. We’ll never be able to stand up to airbrushed images in magazines. If you have a pointy chin, limp hair or wide hips, you’re stuck with them. The only way to feel beautiful is to accept yourself the way you are. Stand naked in front of a 3-way mirror under florescent lights and get used to your body. I dare you!

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© Beth Wiesemann. No portion of this article may be reproduced without the author's permission.