As a young girl, I struggled with confidence, especially in relation to my appearance. When it came to fitting in, I felt like a little kid always trailing her older siblings, yelling wait up! I felt the pang of always being just a little behind or just a little off. My haircut wasn’t quite right; my clothes and shoes weren’t quite as cool as they needed to be.

Throughout school, I straddled the line between the popular crowd and the smart kids, not really fitting into either. I dated someone popular, and I was an athlete, but I didn’t really belong with that crew. I wasn’t one of them. And I felt it. I certainly didn’t have the confidence to flaunt my young body the way many of my friends did.

I felt like folding into myself all the time. I never felt comfortable in my own body or proud of what it could do. I have spent much of my life feeling inferior and self conscious. I’ve tugged at clothes to cover me for as long as I can remember, dreading photos and swimsuits.

I envy other women all the time. Lately, I’ve been asking myself: What purpose does this serve? Why do so many women (like me) believe so much of our value is determined by physical appearance? Our self worth should be defined by so much more than our physical bodies. We’re always comparing ourselves to one another. It’s exhausting and maddening, and I’m done with it. I know I’m not alone in feeling this way. And I know that we live in a time when women’s bodies are objects, things to discuss and pick apart. Our bodies are used for another’s enjoyment; our bodies are topics of conversation. I recognize that we can’t control society’s obsession with the female form, but I wish women weren’t so hard on each other.

I suppose I always thought the mean girl shit would disappear as I got older, but it hasn’t. I’m in my 30s and still women my age cut each other down, reduce one another to their weight, breast size, complexion, hair, etc. This past weekend I attended a wedding. I struggled mightily with my wardrobe options. I’m not in the shape I’d like to be, and I don’t feel confident or comfortable in my own skin. Frankly, it’s a terrible way to live. Most days I can push past this, but sometimes something sets me over the edge.

I tried on a few dresses for my husband, and he helped me pick one. He was kind and careful, and I appreciated his help. I wanted desperately to spend some time getting ready for this event so I could feel pretty. But my girls had other plans for me. I attempted to do my hair and makeup, but I mostly took care of the girls, and both had blowouts as we were scrambling to get ready. So I went to this wedding not feeling so great about my appearance. But I tried so hard to look nice.

The entire reception, I tugged at my dress and tried to hide my stomach (see the image below). I held my hands in front of my body, leaned into my husband to hide, and kept pushing the negative internal voice away.

At the close of the evening, I found out that one of the other guests, a woman I know, was asking people if I was pregnant again. I had been slinging gin and tonics like my life depended on it, so of course she knew I wasn’t pregnant. What was her intention and motivation? I’m not a threat in any way to her. I’m madly in love with my husband, and I don’t post revealing or provocative images on social media. I’m not after her boyfriend, nor am I the kind of woman who seeks outside male attention. So why bother? To make herself feel better about her own body? It was hateful and spiteful and nasty. She didn’t ask because she thought I really might be pregnant. She was being critical about my body, a body that has no bearing on her life.

Honestly, I probably do look a little pregnant. I certainly do in the image below this text. But the reality is I’ve had two babies in a short time, and I haven’t focused on me in a long time. So yes, I have a C-section shelf. And I hate it sometimes. But I earned it, and it’s mine. And it felt so wrong for someone else to talk about it.

I’m really tired of this. It’s exhausting. Why can’t we treat women as whole beings who are more than just the bodies carrying us around? I’m especially frustrated with other women. Normal, ordinary women are already competing with immediate access to flawless Instagram models, shameless Facebook selfie posters, and the pervasive allure of porn, so why can’t those of us who aren’t baring ourselves on social media be kind to each other? Us ordinary women certainly don’t need to cut each other down. We have it hard enough with the current societal environment. The least we could do is root for each other and empathize and support one another.

I’m guilty of this behavior, too. I notice flaws and dissect other women’s bodies. I’ve said these thoughts out loud, likely in an attempt to silence the mean girl in my own head. I always regret saying these judgmental, unnecessary comments, and I never feel better afterward. I’m going to try my hardest to leave those thoughts there, alone in my head, instead of uttering them to another person.

I’ve been thinking about this for days, and I’m the most upset that I’ve allowed this to upset me as much as it has. Other than keeping critical thoughts to myself, I want to raise my girls to be different than I am. I want them to be unapologetically confident and bold. I want them to look at their bodies and recognize what their bodies can do, not want their bodies look like. I want them to brush off hateful and mean comments and know that those words are empty and unimportant. I hope to teach them not to be the speakers of those words.

I want them to move through this life as strong and kind women, knowing that every human being’s value and worth should not be based solely on the body. We are worth so much more.

Now, if only I could take my own advice.