Glow by Lady E

  Dear Glow Girls, Somewhere along the way, my idea of beautiful changed.  DCC Armani said: “It’s hard trying to figure out your version of what a beauty standard is when you look around and your best friends, they have hair and you don’t.“ That got me thinking.  What really is beauty? What is beautiful? They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  But there are a lot of things that a big group of people agree on that are beautiful. So, is that what beautiful is? What the majority agrees on?  But there are also things, standards of beauty from different places in the world that are different from what most people deem beautiful.  Does that mean their idea of beauty is wrong? This issue has made me do a deep dive into my own standards of beauty.  Charlotte Mason believed that c hildren should be surrounded by what is whole, beautiful, and worthy. She said we shouldn’t keep chipped mugs or plates, torn books, broken toys at home. Basically anything br...

  There are things we once called beautiful because we were taught to. Because they were admired. Because they were chosen by others. Because they looked right… on the outside. But beauty, the kind that stays, doesn’t just look good. It feels good to live with. It doesn’t sting.  It’s not uncomfortable.  Tonight, sit with this gently: What have you been calling beautiful… that no longer feels good to you? Is it something you wear? A makeup palette that looks beautiful, but doesn’t work for you anymore? A routine you follow? A space you keep? A version of yourself you’ve outgrown? You don’t have to reject it. You don’t have to explain it. Just notice. Where does it feel heavy? Where does it feel forced? Where does it feel like you’re performing instead of living? And then, just as quietly… ask yourself: What would feel better instead? Not louder. Not more impressive. Just… softer. Truer. Yours. —- With elegance and quiet fire, Lady E Founder, Glow by Lady E...

  I didn’t expect to feel anything. It was just a stop at Park Triangle Mall. And there was a Father’s Day exhibit. Something to pass through. But then— color. Not polite color. Not decorative. Color that moved. There was one in yellow. Violent strokes of red cutting through it. Fragments layered on top like something trying to hold itself together. It didn’t ask to be understood. It just… existed. Another sat in deep blue. Fire trapped inside it. Gold, red, and something restless pressing against the surface. Like restraint. Like something that knew how to stay contained. The circular pieces felt different. More intimate. As if they were not meant to be displayed—but revealed. Contained worlds. Private languages. You look at them long enough and they begin to look back. And then there was softness. Teal, flowing, almost weightless. A quiet undoing. It made me think about fathers. Not in the literal sense. But in the way things are passed down. Discipline. Restraint. Silence....