That's not me.

That's not me there, in that picture, next to my husband and surrounded by my children. That woman is pasty and tired looking. Who does she think she is, taking over my family like that?

I heard about an interesting study last week, on the radio. People were photographed, and shown the photographs two different ways. One photograph was 'kindly enhanced', while the other photograph remained untouched. People were 20% more likely to pick the "kindly enhanced" photo as being the one they believed was their actual photo.

What does that say about us as human beings? Are we looking into our mirrors every day with rose colored glasses? Or are we just not looking into our mirrors every day? What's more, is this a healthy point of view, this way of imagining ourselves to be more attractive than we really are? Or is the distortion problematic?

The other day my husband caught me in a vulnerable position. I had just gotten dressed and I was straining over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of my backside in the mirror. Not only did I have to make sure it was all still there, but I wanted to make sure its bags weren't packed for Mexico. Satisfied with my assessment, I turned back around to find my husband giggling at me. "You don't see guys doing stuff like that," he gleefully pointed out. Then he demonstrated the absurdity of such a thing. Indeed, he looked ridiculous. But what's a girl to do? We must look our best, at all times, and apparently even that is not enough, since this latest study tells us that the mirror is lying and we're actually 20% uglier than we thought we were when we left the house.

Let's take a minute and get serious. Look at the flip side of this issue - distorting one's own image from positive to negative. Anorexia. Body dysmorphic disorder. Obsessions with plastic surgery. How and why does this happen? Is this a self esteem issue, or does it go deeper? Could it be a distraction from unresolved complex personal problems? What can be done for someone who suffers with the pain of experiencing themselves as un-presentable to society? The media certainly doesn't help. I'd dare say that the internet and pervasiveness of pornography has created quite a standard of what body beauty is supposed to be. Sad, really....

Those who struggle with their appearance to the point that it is interfering with their lives and their relationships, or is putting their physical or mental/emotional health at risk, should know that there is help available. Cognitive therapies and some antidepressant medications can help people release some of the obsession with appearance and allow them to more fully function in their lives.

As for those who live in the clouds, thinking they have been mysteriously replaced by trolls in the family photos, I'm right there with you.

Last week I flew home to Seattle from a family reunion in Utah with my children.  As we were seated for the flight, I was startled to hear the wailing of a 10 year old girl as she boarded the plane.  Accompanied by a flight attendant, it was clear this child wanted nothing to do with Delta flight 1169.  

"No!  No!  I don't want to go!  I don't want to goooooo!"  

The words were garbled between sobs and hyperventilating gasps, but the message was clear.  She didn't want to be on that plane.  

She was traveling alone, and the male attendant, though well intentioned, was not helping as he handed her headphones and Delta pillows and blankets.  "It will be fine!" he kept saying, more to reassure himself than her.  

I had three of my own to look after, but they were lost in a world of Nickelodian  magazines and M&Ms - so I approached the scene and offered to sit by the girl.  The attendant looked more than a bit relieved.  I sat down, strapped in, and started asking questions in a low voice.  Where are you going?   Where have you been?  Are you afraid to fly?  Do you not want to leave?  Do you wish you could stay?   Between gasps for air, she began to answer my questions at least intelligibly enough for me to figure out that her parents were divorced, and she had been visiting her dad and siblings for a month.  She was headed back to Mom's house where she lived.  She was sad to leave her father - not upset to be with mom, just sad to leave dad.  Interestingly enough, her hysterics did not stop until I said, "That stinks.  It's just not fair."  

Silence.

I felt my own daughter touch me on the sleeve as she offered up her Nickelodian magazine to the cause.  I'm ever grateful for her generosity, as she is the same age as my new flight companion and could have easily been irritated that I'd left my seat next to her to sit by a stranger.  I asked the child if she knew who Spongebob was, and she slowly accepted the magazine.  The crying ceased, but the emotion was still thick.  

Once we took off and destiny was clearly irreversible, I introduced myself.  I told her a little bit about my trip, my kids, and my job, and how I've had a lot of experience talking to people who have experienced divorce.  I shared with her that I thought it was pretty crummy that she had to be hurting like this when she's done nothing wrong.   It wasn't long before we were playing Slap Jack with her Barbie playing cards and laughing it up - I swear she cheats.  I politely offered her some of my goodies, but she refused, and I commended her for refusing.  I was, after all, a stranger - 

As the plane landed, I felt I had made a new friend.  I asked her if every flight begins this way for her - turns out it is, when she leaves Dad.  

"Every time I fly they give me these headphones to get me to stop crying.  I must have about 500 by now."   The point being, we all need to be heard, and understood.  Validation is the magic key to intimacy when there's a problem - throwing solutions at one who suffers is far less effective than simply saying, "that makes sense."  

The plane came to a stop, and she told me she had to be the last one off the plane.  She watched for my reaction, so I glanced back at my own kids and mouthed for them to wait.  We sat in silence, as the plane unloaded.   When it was nearly empty I shook her hand and wished her well.  That's the last I'll ever see of her, I'm sure.

But, I will continue to see her in all of the others like her.  And I will remember her as I tuck my own in at night, so humbled to be their mom, so grateful for what I have.