I struggle with loving this body I’m in. Just lately I feel like I’m wearing a fat suit – this to me is a good thing as I see a zipper down the front and my fingers are posed, ready to pull it down slowly at first maybe – then whoosh!
I’ve realised that I hardly look at myself at all. Fleeting moments to brush my hair, or when opening the bathroom cabinet to reach for the toothbrush. Moments in which, at most, I’ll see my neck and face.
So about two weeks ago I changed where I keep my clothes. I now use a wardrobe where I’m confronted with me. I mean I can see my whole body thanks to a full length mirror. I step in front of it naked and then turn my back. So now I’m pausing and facing it until I can say something nice to myself.
Funny – I keep getting the urge to use ‘her’ instead of ‘me’ when I write. Talking about a part of me but knowing she needs to be welcomed in, back, integrated as my whole. Stop being splintered.
It’s funny how I can easily see so much beauty in others but tell myself I am not.
When friends and family tell me I am beautiful, even list what they find attractive about me, I cannot… um ok, I choose, to not accept it for myself.
I look in the mirror and am confident about stuff in the inside more, but the outside? I look and all I can say is “I love my eyes.” It’s a start though *lol*.
A thought just came to me – although I struggle to say ‘I love’ about any other part of my physical self, I can start thanking each and every bit of me. For my body holds the story of my life and I can choose to tell myself a positive story of my journey to now. For who I am today is someone with a lot of love, light and laughter.
I am as free as I choose to be.
So now I’m choosing me.
Just need to unzip that fat suit now…
What do I see when I look in the mirror?
I see someone much older than the real me. Even worse, I see my mum sometimes and it brings back memories of the things she used to say about herself – all negative of course.
About how she hated her “mummy tummy” – so it was my fault she was unhappy. I loved it – it was a comfy cushion I could rest my head on while she stroked my hair or stroked my back. Moments I actually felt close to her, cared and loved, until she started wanting to clean my ear out with a finger – that hurt! She used to be a dancer and mourned the loss of her physique – oh and wouldn’t let me go to ballet lessons no matter how much I begged.
Anyway back to me! What do I see? Short legs. I quite like their shape but they’re fat and wobbly – my thighs are. My bum used to be one of my best features but now its kind of flat and a bit shapeless.
My tummy – UGH!! I HATE this part of myself. It’s huge. It’s like a ‘thing’ I carry around with me. A big blob of constipated life. It’s ugly. I look pregnant, when I look at me from the side it’s the worst. I see a really old lady. Saggy folds. A podgy pussy!
As I look up my body I can see a womanly shape – I like this even though it is not well defined at the moment. Then I look at my breasts. Large, sagging. Ok for a woman my age I suppose. Flat on top though – remnants from having breastfed two babies for a short few months. I wish they were more pert. When I look at then from the side I think they just look sad. My nipples are flat and not very sensitive, the aureole larger than I’d like – due to age, I guess.
My arms have no definition but they’re not too bad. My neck is fat. My face is puffy. My eyes are my saving grace and the first thing to sparkle when I eat well. My hair is thinner and going silver but I like it long – I’m glad I’ve grown it again.
I’ll simply smile – everyone is beautiful when they smile… and how I hope I will step in front of the camera with my defenses, as well as my clothes, down. This could be tough.
Each lady was interviewed by Michelle Roberton-Jones directly after having their photos taken, so what you see and hear now is a fresh account of how they found the experience…