Here’s the hard truth: I am one of the most insecure people you may ever meet. Wow, that sounded egotistical and sad at the same time — like I’m trying to compete for the top spot in a game no one wants to play. What I’m really trying to say is … I hate beauty. Hate it.

Beauty has this way of putting a spotlight on every flaw, every imperfection, every line and shadow that didn’t seem to be there yesterday. And for all you women out there, let’s just call it what it is: a dog-eat-dog world.

We’re competing, not just with the woman walking into the room, but also with ourselves. Hate to say it, men, but you aren’t the only ones we’re trying to impress. The beauty battle is less about you noticing us as it is about comparing ourselves to some unreachable standard — one we can’t even meet for ourselves.

Here’s the kicker: I’m not even competing with the women around me anymore. That part, I think, I’ve outgrown. But I am still competing with myself — myself from 10 years ago.

Oh, that girl. I loved her. She was healthy, glowing, strong. She didn’t need Botox, not that I am a regular now. She was running avidly, balancing the good foods with the indulgent ones, living the life she thought she was supposed to. And here’s the real heartbreak: back then, I didn’t even appreciate her. I thought she was less than the me from 10 years before that.

What is it about us that makes us do this? Why do we diminish who we are in the moment and romanticize the past? It’s like we can never let ourselves be enough.

I remember this moment vividly — it sticks in my mind like a pin holding up a painful truth. I’d just moved back to the area and was sitting at my kitchen table with this beautifully fit woman. We were bonding, or so I thought. She started sharing her insecurities, and I, thinking it was a safe space, shared mine.

The look she gave me — part nerve (which I definitely have), part shock — was like a punch to the gut. She said I didn’t seem like someone who would care about these things.

Well, I do.

The truth is, I’ve tried to avoid the thought of beauty like it’s a mortal sin, but somehow it keeps creeping in. I still catch myself chasing that girl from ten years ago. Sure, I’ve learned to love the smile lines (everyone should), but all the other stuff? It’s harder to let go.

And yes, I’m writing this while on a two-week strict diet to “restart” my metabolism. Why? Because I want to fit into the wardrobe I’ve carefully curated over the last decade. I want my energy back, to feel strong and capable again. And yes, I want to look good, too. Now the trick is to still appreciate who I am now, and not to lose sight of that significant factor.

And here’s the thing: I’d like to believe that we’re all going through this in some way. Maybe some of us wear it on our sleeves, others overcompensate, and some bury it so deep you’d never know. I’m guilty of all the above.

So, I’m asking you — whether you’re a woman like me or a man reading this — does this sound familiar? Do you feel the weight of self-comparison, whether it’s to others or to the version of yourself you thought you’d always be?

Maybe, if we all, I mean all genders, showed that we have the same underlying feelings, we would treat ourselves and others better.

Let’s find some common ground. Let’s rewrite this narrative and finally be kind to the people we are today.

Mother, author, entrepreneur and founder of Dandelion-Inc, Lisa Resnick wants to hear your story. Share memories with her by emailing lisa@dandelion-inc.com.