No one says I'm Glamorous

Lithium acne.
Grey hair poking through "Medium Ash Brown."
Off white teeth–no patience for whitening stripes.
50 extra pounds.
Duck walk.
No make-up.
Glasses.
Thrift store clothes.
These things describe my look.
If I let my outward appearance dictate my glamour quotient, I’d be a negative 2.
For me, it’s not what I look like; it’s what I’ve done.
I traveled to Guatemala, a country in Central America, to pick up my baby son. I welcomed him, the tiny one, with open arms. I became a mother in a split second. This was glamorous–the travel, the culture, the smells and tastes of a foreign country. Opening my heart to a small heart in need. And my need. I needed a child. A mother at 41. Glamour is knowledge. Motherhood brings new knowledge. How to regulate one’s touch for such a tiny individual. How to wake up twice a night for months. How to hear the subtlest sigh. How to maneuver his arms into a little shirt. How to love another.
I’ve recovered from bipolar illness. I’ve been to the other side. Insanity. And I’ve come back. More traveling. God is glamorous. I dreamed I was God. But I was awake. It’s called a delusion. I was going to save the world. Instead, someone saved me from my own mind. He’s called a psychiatrist. And I’m back. Couldn’t have done it without the drugs. And lots of mistakes. Insanity is total bankruptcy. You’re broken into a million pieces, and must be glued back together. But you come back stronger. You are super sane. You are a little glamorous, only because of what you now know. Have experienced. Imagined.
I’m a writer. If people don’t think you’re weird, they think you’re glamorous. No one knows me. But I’m here. Observing, tasting, drinking the world. And spitting it back out onto paper. I am so lucky that I can do this. It’s a privilege. The creator said, "I’m going to make you crazy, but I’ll give you time to write." Thanks. I’m not bitter. When I have the slightest taste of bile, I swallow it.
I am a teacher. I’ve seen people literally learn to think. Due to my coaxing. More importantly, I’ve seen children learn to love. Themselves and others. Put themselves in others’ shoes. How glamorous is that?
And then, I’m a wife. I work so hard at loving my husband. I forget myself. More love. So glamorous is love.
I could go on.
This is a message to you.
Don’t judge yourself by your appearance. Judge by what you’ve accomplished. By what you’ve learned and know.
This is what really matters.
No one says I’m glamorous.
What do they know?