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No make-up, no filters, no airbrushing. Also: no sleep in the last 30 hours.

I came in from my walk with Kane today and, although it was eight degrees below zero (Celsius) and quite windy outdoors, I was sweating. The polar fleece vest had kept me mostly dry, but the lining of my windbreaker was dripping wet.

After dismantling the many layers of my bitter-winter dog-walking garb, I fed Kane his lunch then edited some photos while I cooled down.

When I finally went upstairs to change, I caught myself in the mirror. Wow. My cheeks were pink. And the planes of my cheekbones were darkened with tan and freckles.

I stood back and looked.

I thought: I'm going to have to start wearing sunscreen.

I thought: You know? This isn't so bad. Even after a night of complete insomnia.

My dad at about the same age as I am now. 

I thought (not for the first time): I look like my dad and my other Simpson relatives, with the slightly flattened nose, the high cheekbones, the jowls, and the freckles (or age spots). I liked that.

I thought: When I'm 80 years old, I'm going to look back and think how pretty I was.

So when I got back downstairs, I snapped a picture. I opened it in Photoshop. I sharpened the picture. I lightened the shadows. I removed two zits (because those aren't permanent).

I left all the wrinkles, the under-eye bags, the remnants of this morning's lipstick, the age spots and the funny red blood vessel thingy on my forehead.

I've spent too damned much of my life wishing I looked like Cindy Crawford (or at least Reese Witherspoon). Like every woman out there, I've compared myself to the Photoshopped-to-unrecognizable celebrities on People.com. As I've seen more women posting their "no-makeup selfies," I've been saddened by how the women and girls are loath to show their natural selves.

And these are young, attractive women! I want to shake them!

I looked at myself and thought: This is what healthy looks like. This is what happiness looks like. And I felt beautiful.