dancing on the walls: You see it in commercials for feminine products of all shapes and sizes. A woman with long flowing hair and clothes–usually a twirly skirt–and limbs spin under godrays on some sort of wall. A natural stone one on the beach, or a cliff, or the crumbling wall of some old, forgotten village.

I always dreamed of wearing a dress where the skirt swirled as I danced on a wall. My partner would hold my hand as I danced and giggled and laughed, and then he would pull me into his arms and hold me close and kiss me. For years, this was one of my cherished fantasies of what it would be like to be pretty.

It finally came true. While my newlywed husband and I were visiting my dad, my stepsister helped me fix up my hair, and she did my makeup and then helped me get into a dress that was too big for her and a tiny bit snug for me – but I was able to wear it and make the skirt twirl. My excitement knew no bounds because I was finally pretty, and I was on my way to the church I’d grown up in with my husband. I knew I was gonna knock them dead.

I walked down the stairs and preened for my husband and dad and stepmom, twirling the skirt and having such fun. My dad smiled because he’d never seen me this way. However, my husband blew it when he answered my “Do you like it?” with a response of, “Um..its nice..but you’re a big girl and built like an ox, and that style doesn’t really look good on you.”

OUCH.

I ran back to the bedroom in tears while my father took my new husband aside and tried to explain to him about tact and women. To be honest, it really is a shame that my husband was brought up without being educated on the finer points of tact, and how you can be honest and yet not hurt someone.

“Built like an ox….built like an ox…” haunted me for the next 30 years. It looked like I would never have my dream of twirly skirts and feminine clothing because, as my husband put it, I had “broad shoulders and a full breast”.

For the next 10 years or so, I didn’t really care about what I wore. What did it matter if there was no way I could be pretty? Who wants to look at an ox wearing a lacy nightgown – know what I mean?

Then I started reading about seasons of color and studying what colors looked best on me. I started wearing the colors that made me look better, and while I didn’t twirl my skirts anymore, I at least felt a little bit good about what I was wearing. Until I went away to college, my mom had bought all of my clothes, and they were pretty much in her styles and colors. Now I understood why I hated fuschia and loved mustard and greens, and even peach in the summer. I decided that even if I couldn’t be pretty, I could at least wear colors that I liked. I also started shopping at Cato, because they had younger styles of clothes than what I had been wearing.

I still dreamed of twirling skirts and dancing on the walls and kicking my legs out, but couldn’t bring myself to that point yet.

A few years ago, though, I did start to wear those skirts, and I started learning about what styles of tops looked great on me. I may not be dancing on the walls, but I was loving the way I looked…somewhat. But then I’d look at my grandma-style underwear and bras and think, “I wish I could look pretty underneath too.”

I joined EdenFantasys website a few weeks ago, and thanks to the encouragement of another member, I finally got up the courage to do something I’d dreamed of for years. I ordered myself a red bustier corset set that included a g-string. Wow. I’d never done anything like that before. But I love red, and I wanted something that made me feel not only pretty, but sexy, even if I am a large woman.

The day it arrived, I tried it on anxiously, and when my husband saw it, he loved it, largely because he knew I liked it. As he rubbed his hands over me, and I felt the sensual material rub against my skin, I finally understood what had been missing for me all along.

I needed sexy things for me. It didn’t matter as much if my husband liked them as it did that I liked them. I needed the sensual feel, and I needed to be able to look in the mirror and see myself wearing a lacy bra and lacy underwear.

So I went shopping and added those things to my wardrobe, along with some pretty lingerie.

I feel like a totally different woman now. Why did it take me over 50 years to accept the fact that I could be pretty, even as a plus size gal? I have no idea.

But I have learned a valuable lesson from this. They say pretty is in the eyes of the beholder. While that may be true, I think it also needs to be in the heart of the one who is being seen. They have to accept the fact that they are pretty, despite any scars or size issues, and they need to find the things that make them feel pretty.

My husband has said for years that I was pretty to him because he loves my character and who I am inside, and that makes me beautiful to him. I am so glad for his faithfulness and his acceptance and love of me. But I had to reach the point where I could finally say to myself, “I feel pretty…oh so pretty.”  Sometimes I even dance around the room twirling my skirts as I sing it to myself – because I know it is true. I am pretty.