I took a picture of myself in the mirror the other day while we were at a suit fitting for the boys. I looked at the picture and it took all my might not to scrutinize myself on how big my thighs were in my new vintage pleated skirt; which I will admit not the best choice for someone with a shape like mine but I had to have it and wear it too. It took all my control not to look at how my face crinkled when I smiled and how big bug eyed my eyes looked. Instead I looked at the kids at my feet in the picture and the smile they had brought to my face.
I am trying to stop looking at myself in such a negative detrimental way because it’s tiring. I want to stop feeling like crap and I don’t want to be a liar any more. I want to change how I see myself because when I tell my boys that I as a women; as a person I can do anything I don’t want to feel like I am lying because the reality is the one of the simplest things in the world; self acceptance is hard. Well it was and occassionally still is until about two years ago before then it seemed impossible but I’m working on it; with some success I might add. I’m trying to change how I see myself too how my husband sees me, how my kids see me.
It’s a work in a progress but until a couple of years ago I avoided mirrors at all costs. Getting my picture taken was like pulling a bar stool out from a man at the pub. I didn’t like the way I looked after I had babies but if I’m honest I have never really liked how I look. Which is probably why I spent so much time at the gym and eating lettuce; never mind lessons learnt; food tastes good. After my boys were born but even before I didn’t like the way my body was shaped, how my face looked, right down to how I sound on the phone yet I knew I could and can do anything. I like who I am as a person, who I stand for, how I love, how I contribute and I like myself that way a lot. I am a good person. Does that sound contradictory to the extreme? Someone with issues? I call them quirks..it sounds cuter and less likely to have me admitted.
I should add that I’m not writing this for oh that’s not right. You’re not fat or you are pretty in your own way. I don’t want or need that. What you say makes no difference to me ( but thank you anyway the sentiment it is appreciated) because it needs or needed to come from me and I’m writing this because I’m sure there are others out there who think or battle the same way I have or did and it shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t. We should like ourselves completely. So whilst I still battle hard to be okay with how I look. My body. My face. I like to think I’m winning against the voices in my head because now I think I am pretty damn fine, my husband could do worse than have me and from what I here Natalie Portman is now off the market so she and I can both relax.
My husband loves me just the way I am; always has. and he doesn’t get my thing about my body, just doesn’t. How he doesn’t it baffles me. It baffled me at 23 and it baffles me at 36 but he says he can’t get enough of me and my naked body but he says it’s not just my naked that he likes. He says being naked with someone is more than that. He says ‘my naked’ is made up of so much more I don’t get it well I didn’t I do now. My husband he tells me what he sees is someone who has given him the world. That is beautiful and sexy. That I bore him three children. I laboured three times for him. I gave up my body for him, my children and I nourished those children with my body. He tells me that I’m not afraid of doing my own thing, that I am independent, I like having an opinion, speaking out when I feel necessary and knowing when to stop and walk away. He says that makes up the naked. The body. The me. Not just the skin, muscle and flesh. He loves me, is in love with me not just my body.
Yet I still often find myself looking at images in the media saying to myself is that what a 36 year old looks like, OMG? Now however I try to remember that my story, my heritage and theirs are different. Most days I get it and some days rarely I don’t although as I get older those days are becoming fewer and it’s been a very long time since I cried over the way I looked in a skirt. Back then I found myself looking at cosmetic surgeon’s pages a lot and I did go once I got as far as the reception area and walked out. I couldn’t do it wanted to but couldn’t.
Now it’s simple I shut out those negative thoughts telling me my thighs are to big completely. I control those thoughts. I have complete control of them and I simply stop listening to myself or I distract myself whatever it takes. I also don’t compare myself with anybody; anymore. At all. I don’t read gossip magazines. I have become grateful for my body and that it’s still working. My body amazes me now. Amazes me. My neighbour has been diagnosed with MS whilst another has just lost their voice box just to stay alive so I have a lot to be grateful for. Grateful that I can speak without the aid of an ipad, that I can control my own limbs and put on my own knickers.
Still I’m not at the stage of walking around naked or sleeping naked my body and I still aren’t that comfortable with each other and truthful I’m too much of a prude and what if someone was to see other than myself or my husband? So there are still those very rare days when I am feeling horrible about how my stomach sags or how much weight sits in my hips but now instead of listening to myself I now do several things. I do something nice for myself it can be as simple as have a shower with a nice soap or getting my eye lashes tinted or I go for a work out. I challenge my body I keep it healthy and as cliché as it sounds I treat it well. If I think I look crap I change up my style I might wear a nicer outfit and I no longer aspire to modern day celebrities there is no point I am not built like them. If I want style inspiration I now go back 50 years to when women had a bottom and boobs like me.
I remind myself that I earnt those stretch marks and wrinkles that I hated so much. They are my tattoos of life and that is now how I wear the sunspot on my left cheek that won’t budge despite how many times my therapist zaps it with that damn laser. Many a day was spent canoeing up the Katherine Gorge; mud crabbing with my father that got me that sunspot and wrinkles. My last pregnancy gave me the stretch marks on my breasts. I earnt those. I can’t deny that and wouldn’t change a single thing so why see them as something ugly when so much fun and love got them in the first place. I will remind myself how my husband see’s me and how my kids think of me as superwoman. I remind myself of that a lot that my kids think of me as Superwoman and I’m sure never doubted how she looked in her cape or if her bum looked big in that. I bet she thought of herself as pretty damn fine.
Overall though when now I look in the mirror I really do think I am pretty damn fine but tentatively I will add it will always be a work in progress.
Want to know what others look like not to compare but to reassure that we are just all pretty damn fine head here
Xx Deb
