When I see Kim Ks newest nude selfie, I think of many things that are different between us. Let me start this article with this: I don’t care that she takes nude photos. I don’t care that she uses her body to get ahead. I don’t care about any of this because it isn’t my business and I don’t have any say in her life. There is beauty in the female form and who are we to tell her that she shouldn’t be proud of it. There is no reason to hate her or degrade her because we are just different.

Now, let’s look at the differences between us:

My bathroom does not have the gorgeous beamed 20ft ceiling, the warm lighting, the tv, the bathtub, the large window with custom treatments, the door to I’m sure a closet full of clothes when she has “nothing to wear.”

Instead, my bathroom has a terribly unflattering overhead light, barely enough working outlets to heat my curling iron while I dry my hair after washing it for the first time this week, a bathtub full of baby toys and whatever is growing in the grout, absolutely zero natural light, and just outside my bathroom door is a pile of clothes that I really can’t wear because they are covered in food, drool, spit up, dog hair, you name it.

My bathroom is not the home to a huge beveled mirror with marble tiles and spick and span countertops.

Instead, my bathroom has a medicine cabinet barely big enough to get this photo with me on my tippy toes and not big enough to hold the millions of products I use to try to get the perfect skin and hair, because I don’t have makeup and hair artists to do it for me. Btw, I can give you a list of products not to waste your money on. My floors are 30 year old tiles probably full of asbestos. My countertops are covered in my boyfriend’s beard hair and hair from my bangs that are now too short.

My bathroom is definitely not a home to a perfectly plucked, perfectly shaped, perfectly bronzed, manicured, bosomed and bottomed host.

Instead, my bathroom has me. After a year, the skin on my stomach is still saggy. I have love handles. My breasts are uneven and leak breastmilk. My hair is cut and colored by myself (as good or bad as that may be.) My bracelets aren’t Cartier and my eyes need glasses (until I can ONE DAY get that Lasik.) My hairband is on my wrist because at any second with an infant I have to throw it into a bun to keep from ripping it out. My legs aren’t always perfectly shaved (sorry sweetheart) and all of my fun parts are droopy, used and sad.

But one thing about our photos are the same. The hand massaging her shoulders is one that every mother has done. While in this photo mine is posed,  there are many occasions where it is not. This hand on your own shoulder is comforting, it helps massage out the kink between your shoulder blades from hauling children all day, it is to wipe off the snot your child left after sneezing into your hair, and it’s a pat on our own back that says, ” You can do this.”