A number of years ago, I was invited to speak at a small women’s retreat near my hometown. My sessions were titled “Confessions of an Ugly Duckling,” and oh friend, was it a brave time for me.

It came on the heels of finding my worst. School. Photo. Ever. I had a few  a lot of really bad photos – but this was one was BAD. It involved early puberty, a failed perm and bizarrely fluffy bangs (that I know smelled like cheap hairspray), bad wardrobe choices that I was strangely confident about (think: a giant black neck-tied bow), and at least 15 extra pounds due to a 3-week summer visit with Grandma (she was the ‘clean-your-plate-or-else-and-here-is-another-piece-of-fried-chicken-now-clean-your-plate’ type and I was a pudgy Grandma pleaser).

Tell me you have a photo like this too?

I’ve come a long way in personal grooming and fashion, but as I prepared to air my shameful evidence, I remembered quite clearly the girl I had been. Even writing about it now, my heart is so tender for that awkward pre-teen girl. With a great deal of vulnerability, I revealed the 6th-grade start of what I titled ‘my ugly decade,’ to a room full of grown women.

As I shared that photo with the room, there were gasps of shock – not at my photo, to my surprise – but that I’d been brave enough to share it. It was like horrifying evidence and no one could look away. They made me hand it around the room, people.

Everyone in the room had a similar photo memory to share. Their own version of my failed perm. We talked in solidarity – the sisterhood of the awkward pre-teen, about our own photos or memories that we felt ashamed of, or something we’d hide away hoping that no one would ever find it. There was compassion, laughter and a reframing of our shame, in that group of women.

I wonder if we felt ashamed about our photos, keeping them hidden away because deep-down, we thought we’d be revealing that we’re not lovely. Not loveable. That if someone really knew who we actually were, they’d reject us.

When I returned to my parents’ house, I told my precious mama about the retreat, the photo and the ugly decade. I will never forget the confused, injured look on her face as she uttered six weighty words: “But Ellen, you were always beautiful.”

To be clear, I was undeniably awkward, clumsy, “confidently creative” in my 1980’s/90’s blend fashion choices, and the photo was pretty bad. But my mother, the one who knew my very heartbeat, who loved me before I was born, saw past hairstyles, extra weight, awful clothes (ranging from Miami-vice pastels to Seattle-grunge) and she saw what was real about me. Instead of awkward, she saw me growing into who I was created to be, and she called it beautiful.

I understand it better now that I watch my daughter. I can’t believe her to be anything but beautiful – even when I’m frustrated or tired or wondering how in the world she could push one. More. Button. My sweet girl is full of potential. I see her growing in love – in joy. I see her learning how to understand grief. I see her personality and sense of humour developing and her salty-sweet self growing. I see determination and resilience. I see distinct “leadership abilities” just like I had as a child. In my eyes, she is imperfectly lovely and loveable, even when she’s struggling. My mama-bear heart will not allow you to tell me anything different. I know this is true.

There was a shift in that moment with my mama. When I began to realize that when I made comparisons and found myself sadly lacking, I had missed the truly beautiful process of growing up. I missed seeing myself in that photo. I didn’t understand that the awkwardness of 11 years would turn into the compassion of 42 years. I did not understand that imperfection was fuel for the process that would bring forth who I was created to be – just like we process gold or silver.  I didn’t know that beauty would grow best as I grew in love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

That photo didn’t define me – it was simply a reflection of the process I’m still in. Growing, from grace to grace, from stage to stage. The “ugly duckling” stage doesn’t define me. Even when I don’t feel beautiful, I have always been loved, lovely and loveable.

As I’ve shared conversations with so many gifted, talented, amazing, truly beautiful women, I realize that I am not alone. I suspect that many of us feel like that bad school photo or experience defines us and we need to hear this truth – you, friend, have always been lovely, loveable and loved. Exactly how you are. Your smile, your laugh, your compassion, your mind, your heart, the way you reflect the One who made you – these are the things that make you undeniably lovely. The One who knows you best calls you beloved.

If no one else has ever told you, please know that although I might not have laid eyes on you, I know the One who made your heartbeat and I’ve read what He says about you. I know that from the very first moment of your life until now, and every moment in between, you have been beautiful in a way that cannot begin to compare with anyone else. You are uniquely lovely and we need you just as you are – even in the awkward.

Oh, and you know what, looking back at THAT photo? The one you don’t want anyone to see? You were awesome, even then. A few decades later, I have a particular tenderness for awkward pre-teen girls with questionable fashion choices. Turns out, when we learn we’re really loved, we’re unstoppable (or at least our hairsprayed bangs are).

Shine on, friend.