Strength

I consider myself to be a bit of a feminist. 

Now, when I say feminist, I don't mean burn-your-bra-in-public crazies who harp on and on about how all men suck. 

No, I mean that I am a firm believer that women are strong creatures.

I was born into a family of strong women for generations back, on both sides. 

There is a famous story of one of my mother's ancestors, who killed a panther with nothing but a soup ladle when it came after one of her babies. 

Then there's my grandmother, who raised my dad and his twin brother, who I am sure that J.K. Rowling used as inspiration for the Weasley twins.

And then there's my mother, who endured heartbreak and poverty and still kept going every day, raising my sisters and I to be talented, intelligent women.

And then there's me. 

I am strong.

I didn't always believe that, but I am. I have been through struggles and hardships, and I have never given up. I have borne two children and am doing my best to raise them. I am a good wife, and I am a good mom. I am smart and caring and confident and beautiful and I make really good cupcakes. There are a lot of really great things about me. I am not perfect, but I try hard, and that matters. 

I understand myself. I know that I have limits, but I also know that I am capable of incredible things. When I look in the mirror, I see strength.