I was listening to a recent episode of IMO with my forever First Lady, Michelle Obama, her brother Craig Robinson, and their guest, our girl Mary J. Blige.

Mary said something that pierced me.

What struck me first was how vulnerable the conversation was. Here sat two women we have watched very publicly not simply occupy spaces, but dominate them. Michelle Obama and Mary J. Blige are legends. Yet both have been incredibly open about the personal work it took to become comfortable with the women the rest of us had been admiring for years.

Growing up, I never had to look far for role models. I was surrounded by women in my own family whom I admired and wanted to be like.

Then a certain Michelle Obama came along.

Around the time I became a U.S. citizen, Barack Obama was running for president. I took voting seriously, so I researched the candidates on both sides. Somewhere in that process, I discovered Michelle.

For the first time, I had a role model who didn’t share my last name.

For eight years, I thought I was a fan. Then she left the White House, gave us Becoming, and we actually got to watch her become.

We watched her talk openly about marriage, motherhood, ambition, disappointment, her body, her fears, her voice, and what it meant to navigate all of it as a Black woman.

Then there is my sister Mary.

Mary and I have never met, but you cannot tell me that woman isn’t my older sister. As many hours as she has sung to me, poured into me, helped me through a bad breakup, reminded me we ain’t got no time for drama, and taught me about love and getting back up?

She’s fam at this point.

One of my earliest memories of Mary is Share My World. Somebody brought the CD to school right after it dropped. Somehow, in my seventh-grade English class, I went from “I Can Love You,” to “Love Is All We Need,” to “Everything,” to “Missing You.”

My 12-year-old self could not have explained half of what Mary was talking about.

Didn’t matter.

I felt every bit of it.

There was something raw and honest in her voice. Mary didn’t just sing a song. She made you believe her.

Lord knows what assignments I had to make up because I was completely checked out in English class.

So imagine me, a certified Mary J. Blige fan, hearing this woman say that for years she couldn’t stand the sound of her own voice.

Not just her speaking voice. Her singing voice.

Like…what?

No, seriously. WHATTT?!

I literally had to rewind it.

My Mary? That voice?

The voice millions of us heard and immediately knew was special?

After doing the work on herself, Mary said she can now go back and listen to that younger Mary differently. She can appreciate her. She can appreciate the gift. She can finally see what was there all along.

In some ways, Mary has finally become a fan of Mary.

That made me think about my own journey with self-love.

I’ve always had confidence. I joke that I don’t know what my parents did, but I’ve been THAT girl most of my life.

I’m a dark-skinned, plus-size Black woman who has never fit neatly into America’s traditional beauty standard, yet I grew up seeing beauty in women who looked like me. I saw it in my family. I saw it in the women I admired. I learned early that beauty did not require me to become somebody else.

My faith gave me something even deeper.

Before any room decided whether I belonged there, I was already a daughter of the King. I had a heavenly Father who loved me enough to die for me. Scripture told me I was fearfully and wonderfully made. I learned that God had plans for me and that the gifts He placed inside of me were intentional.

More importantly, I believed it.

Somewhere along the way, though, I forgot. I don’t know exactly when it happened… Life happened. Disappointments happened. Rejection happened. Things I thought would last didn’t. Things I thought I knew about myself got shaken.

Little by little, self-doubt found its way into places where confidence used to thrive.

It’s funny. When I look back at my younger self now, one of the things I miss most about her is her confidence.

BABY, she believed in herself.

She wasn’t perfect. She didn’t have everything figured out. Half the time she probably didn’t even know what she was doing.

Still, she walked into a room believing she belonged there.

I don’t know exactly when I lost some of her.

I’m really hoping to find her again.

Maybe that’s why Mary’s words pierced me.

I don’t mean arrogance or believing you’re better than anybody else.

I mean being able to look at what God put inside of you and say, Girl, that’s good.

I mean receiving a compliment without explaining it away.

Looking at your body without beginning with what needs to change.

Acknowledging what you do exceptionally well without shrinking it.

Looking at yourself with the same admiration you so freely give to the people you love.

What good is the greatness if I spend my entire life refusing to see it?

At 41, I don’t want to do that anymore.

I don’t want to wait until I’m 61 to look back at this woman and finally appreciate her.

I don’t want everybody else to enjoy gifts that I refuse to acknowledge.

I don’t want to become so focused on what still needs work that I miss what is already wonderful.

There will always be something to improve. There will always be another level. There will always be something I could do better.

To see the flaws and still see the beauty. To see where you need to grow and still recognize where you are gifted. To acknowledge what God has placed inside of you without apologizing for it.

To become your own fan.

That’s what I’m taking from my two legends. The world doesn’t need to introduce me to my greatness. I need to recognize it for myself.

I’m still growing. Still learning. Still becoming. There are things about me that need work. There are also some things about me that are pretty amazing. Both can be true.

Maybe I don’t actually need to find that younger girl again. Maybe I just need to remember what she already knew.

Maybe today you need to reintroduce yourself too. Not to the world.

To you.

Take another look at the woman in the mirror.

She might have been pretty amazing all along.

Love and legacy, Elma-Lorraine