I'm proud of my forehead wrinkles. Okay, that was a major lie.

“Bad Mommy, Bad Mommy;” we don’t lie in our family. Oops. Okay, the truth is…

I. HATE. THEM.

But, I don’t hate the reason for them, and guess what? The reason for them matters WAY more than how they make me look.

Now, if you were kind, you would say I look beautiful in spite of them.

Oh, wait! That’s not kind.

A kind person would surely say that I look beautiful because they are marks of a life being lived.

Yes, that is the answer I will accept.

Of course, I hesitated to share this photo with the world. Of course, I know that my appearance will most definitely be critiqued by those trolling social media for a way to put someone down in the name of jerkiness.

The truth is, I nitpicked everything about this image since the first moment I viewed it. What didn’t I like? Those noticeable, pay-me-some-attention forehead wrinkles. My big, slightly pointy nose. My small, too-yellow for social media teeth. Oh yeah, and my way-faded, but I’m too cheap to pay to have them re-done micro bladed eyebrows.

Yet, I am still willing to share this photo.

Why?

Because I share way too few photos of myself as they are “unflattering”.

Do you know what is unflattering?

• An insecure woman.
• An insecure woman who is trying to raise her children to be secure in themselves.
• A woman who can’t see past her imperfect outer appearance.
• A woman who thinks she is imperfect when everyone else thinks she is perfectly her.
• A woman who engages in negative self-talk.
• A wife who doesn’t know her worth.
• A woman who gives any semblance of a hoot about what other people think of how she looks.

To those that think my forehead wrinkles make me less attractive, I challenge you to try to make me feel bad about them.

You will lose, and your efforts will have been wasted.

Now, at the ripe old age of 31, I am more secure in myself, my body, my appearance, and opinions that I ever have been and my newfound confidence (because I sure as hell wasn’t always this confident) didn’t just come with time — it came from motherhood.

So yes, my forehead wrinkles are undoubtedly a result of my little man and the chaos he brings with him everywhere he goes. But there is also no doubting that those racetracks on my forehead are a sign of giving, loving, not sleeping, laughing, and most of all, fully living.

And, I’ll tell you this, you can bite your tongue if you think I will ever, ever apologize for my forehead wrinkles again.

They are a gift from my son and his sisters, and for them, I will forever be grateful.