I am constantly seeing women that I perceive as being the sort you'd like, the sort who'd be worthy of you. The difference is so stark that as soon as I see them, my heart goes pale and quiet and my gut feels like stone rolling seasickly in my belly.

A few moments too late, my mind jumps to my defense, tells me that I'm smarter, that this comparison isn't fair because I still look pretty good after having six kids. How is that woman going to look six kids from now? Probably not so great. Besides, I'm interesting and sincere and down to earth. I'm multi-talented and resourceful and sensual.

But maybe these things don't matter. And maybe they don't outweigh my faults.

They glide past me with self-assurance, radiating smooth, seamless confidence. They are composed. Sophisticated. Socially adept. They are things that I cannot be.

a quiet voice speaks up from within me, tells me that someone who wants this kind of woman wouldn't be suited to me anyway....and although I see that this is true, although I wouldn't give up the things that make me myself in order to be like those women, the bitter taste of envy still sticks in my throat.