OK, I’ll just go ahead and put it out there to immortalize in print: I consider myself to be an attractive woman. Not flawless, not drop-dead-gorgeous or runway material by any means….but attractive.

Are there some features that I wish I could tweak here and there? Of course. Being a few inches taller and a few pounds lighter would be nice, but when my feet hit the floor to start the day, I’m good with the face and body that make me, well, me.

However, since that level of confidence takes years to cultivate, long after adolescence and years after we learn that the only person we’re able to please without fail is ourselves, it didn’t surprise me to find two articles pointedly discussing the illusive concept of beauty and how it’s driven some women into both shame and silence.

The first one I read appeared on Ebony.com and revealed that the multi-platinum singer and actress, Brandy Norwood, spent years being insecure about having what she considers ‘different’ features: “My mom used to always say, ‘you know Brandy, you have a unique beauty.'” the 34-year-old said. “Just having far apart eyes…high cheekbones…I didn’t think I was you know, cute for a very long time. [But] when you take care of yourself and your body, you grow into your body. You realize that no one can be you…and you can really connect with and embrace that.”

The second piece, written by Kate Fridkis and provocatively entitled “Why Can’t Women Think They’re Pretty?”, explored the preoccupation that society has with a woman’s appearance that seems to criticize us for falling short of those illusive beauty standards and, ironically, having the nerve to care in the first place (despite the fact that others obviously do): “We are getting caught in a sticky trap of mixed messages: we are supposed to be modest, even as we’re supposed to be confident. But it shouldn’t have to be immodest or arrogant just to acknowledge when we’re good at something. Or when we look good. That should just be realism.”

Not mentioned in either one of the posts is the fact that the main consumers and arbiters of what’s considered ‘beautiful,’ men, can practically look like a hybrid of Shrek and Sasquatch and not have it overly impact their professional and private lives, but I digress.

What I took from them both in the end is yes, it’s expected that we ladies can struggle with our flaws and our features, but when we love them, it should also be just as cool to, as I like to put it, ‘werq it’ like you’re on a catwalk. No matter where we are in our journey to Acceptanceville, we all have a certain je ne sais quoi that is ours to name and claim. My thick curly cloud of jet black tresses? I love em’. The smooth brown skin and youthfully petite frame that keeps folks from believing I’m 40-something and a mother of three? Very proud of those traits.

But the two reasons why I stay cognizant that I must speak of myself in the positive (even if I don’t always think it) are my daughters, girls who memorize my every move like mini-digital recorders, love their mama fiercely and write me notes like the one Nia gave me the other night just before bedtime: “You are a butiful person (sp). You are a pretty women (sp) and I want you to stay in my life.”

Precious moments like those help me to realize that in order for our children to recognize their worth, we have to do the same. Because when it comes to selling anything, our positive self-images included, universal law dictates that we must own them first.