Why Can Everyone Else See My Strength Except Me?

After I wrote about the whole chin-up incident yesterday, about feeling gutted after looking at my legs during my workout despite objectively getting stronger, something happened later that night that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

We were sitting at the dinner table and Jayden looked at me and said:

“Mama, are you okay? You feel off.”

And honestly? That immediately hit me in the chest.

Because one thing I never want my boys to lose is their ability to trust their intuition about people and energy.

So instead of brushing him off or pretending I was fine, I said:

“Yeah buddy, I’m okay. It has nothing to do with you guys.”

Immediately both him and Kieran started trying to solve the mystery like tiny emotional detectives.

“Is it money?”

“The house?”

“Daddu?”

“Work?”

Which simultaneously broke my heart and made me laugh because apparently my children have become highly trained nervous system analysts from living with me.

So finally I just told them the truth.

I said:

“I’m just struggling because I feel like I’m working really hard in my fitness journey and not seeing the progress I want.”

And then Jayden immediately started telling me how strong I look.

And I said:

“What makes you think I’m talking about how I look? There are lots of ways I could feel like I’m not progressing. Maybe I wasn’t getting stronger. Maybe I couldn’t do more reps.”

And he just smiled and said:

“I don’t know… I just thought that’s what you meant.”

And honestly?

That one hit me hard.

Because he was right.

He instinctively knew what I meant before I even admitted it out loud myself.

Not because he judged me.

Not because he was cruel.

But because my son, this beautiful, emotionally intelligent boy, already understands something so many women quietly carry:

That sometimes no amount of strength feels like enough if we don’t like what we see in the mirror.

And realizing that sat heavy with me.

Because objectively?

I AM progressing.

I’m stronger.

I’m fitter.

I’m more capable.

I’m doing more chin-ups.

Lifting heavier.

Moving consistently.

And yet somehow my brain can erase all of that the second I don’t like how my legs look in shorts.

How fucked up is that?

Then Kieran Joined In

Later I was sitting on the couch with Kieran and he started looking at my legs and arms and saying:

“Wow mama, look at the size of your legs. They are SO strong.”“Look at your arms and all those muscles. It’s amazing.”

And immediately my internal reaction was:

“Oh my god my children have turned into my personal mental health support team because my brain is unwell.”

Which honestly made me laugh and also want to cry simultaneously.

Because here are these two little boys looking at me with complete admiration.

Not criticism.

Not disgust.

Not disappointment.

Admiration.

And the crazy part is…

most people see me that way.

A week ago a complete stranger came up to me while I was working out during Kieran’s soccer practice and told me how fit I was and how amazing she thought it was that I was prioritizing movement while being a mom.

And honestly?

For a moment…I believed her.

I stepped into her version of me.

I saw myself through her eyes for a second and it actually felt really good.

Powerful even.

But it didn’t last long.

Because almost immediately my brain went back to:

• criticizing

• analyzing

• dissecting

• focusing on what still wasn’t “good enough”

• 
  

And I think THAT is the part that really breaks my heart.

Not that women can’t see their beauty or strength at all…

…but that even when we DO finally see it, we often can’t hold onto it.

It slips through our fingers so quickly.

Like our brains are more comfortable with criticism than compassion.

I Think Women Become Blind To Themselves

Honestly, I think a lot of women become completely disconnected from how other people actually see them.

Because we spend YEARS training our brains to search for flaws.

Cellulite.

Wrinkles.

Weight gain.

Loose skin.

Softness.

Aging.

Changes.

We become hyper-focused on every perceived imperfection while completely overlooking the full picture.

Meanwhile other people are seeing:

• our energy

• our strength

• our presence

• our resilience

• our kindness

• our confidence

• our effort

And somehow those things barely register to us at all.

It’s honestly heartbreaking when you think about it.

Maybe The Saddest Part Is This

My boys don’t look at my body and think:

“Has she gained weight?”

They think:

“My mom is strong.”

They think:

“My mom shows up.”

“My mom works hard.”

“My mom can do chin-ups.”

“My mom can carry heavy things.”

“My mom is powerful.”

And somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing myself through that lens.

Like so many women do.

I Don’t Have Some Beautiful Ending Here

I wish I could wrap this up with:

“And then I finally loved my body.”

But honestly? Not yet.

What I DO have now is awareness.

Awareness of how distorted our self-perception can become.

Awareness of how cruel women can be to themselves while looking objectively strong and capable.

Awareness that maybe healing isn’t suddenly loving every inch of yourself overnight…

…but slowly learning to see yourself with the same compassion everyone else already sees you with.

And maybe that starts by listening to the people who love us.

The people who look at us and see strength before flaws.

The people who aren’t measuring our worth by the softness of our thighs.

The people who see us more clearly than we see ourselves sometimes.

Especially when those people are our children.