I’ve been playing around with this blog post for ages now. I keep starting it, then deleting it, starting it, deleting it. I’ve decided today is the day I am going to publish it, get it out of my head, onto paper and step away from it for a while.
It’s literally everywhere at the moment. There are campaigns left right and centre trying to get women to accept and love themselves for who they are.
I am a huge cheerleader for it, I have a 14 year old daughter who loves her body and I want it to stay like that. I think all women should be able to wear whatever the hell they like without worrying what anyone else thinks. Absolutely every woman has the right to feel gorgeous no matter what size she wears.
All women except me it would seem.
I am not able to apply all of that feminist power and positivity to myself. I don’t know why, I really don’t. But I am a little bit fed up with it now.
I am a bit like an X Factor contestant. I’m on an emotional rollercoaster.
I know who I am. I am very, very sure of that now. More sure (surer?) than I’ve ever been in my 36 years on this planet. I also know what I want from life, and, surprisingly, it isn’t what I thought it would be. But I still battle with myself daily over what I look like. In fact, not even daily, hourly. How ridiculous is that?
Answer: It’s fucking ridiculous is what it is. It’s also draining and exhausting. Like there isn’t enough crap going on in life without beating yourself up over what clothes size you wear.
When people pay me compliments, I very rarely hear them. Choosing to play my own internal dialogue over the top of them. If someone says my hair looks nice, I hear (in my own voice) it looks like a birds nest. Instead of hearing my husband when he says I’m pretty, it’s more of a, no, I look knackered and old, how will I ever get rid of the eye bags and double chin? You see where my issues are?
When you’re constantly drowning out the positives with negatives, is it any wonder that’s all you can focus on?
I mean, how is this for crazy. I even worry that my hands look fat when my nail tech takes photos of my nails. I mean, for fuck sake Kate! Sort yourself out!
I am honestly bored of myself. I don’t want to spend another 36 years doing the same thing. A whole life wasted on worrying about how I look rather than enjoying the moment I’m in.
Maybe I’m not that bad? I mean, size 16 is average for goodness sake. Maybe I’m ok as I am? Imagine that. Imagine, after 20 years of thinking my life would be different if only I wasn’t such a fatty, that it finally dawned on me that I am a complete and utter moron.
Stand up moron, your time is over.
The things I say to myself I wouldn’t dream of saying to anyone else. It would be crushing and cruel, but yet here I am, day after day, thinking these things about my own body. The body that has housed two incredible humans. That managed to not croak it after childbirth. The body that loves my family and would do anything for any of them in a heartbeat. Does it matter that it’s not a flipping size 12??
I’m never going to be a gym bunny. I have no interest in it. But, in return for my laziness, the extra plumpness (what a crappy word) on my face means I don’t look 36. That’s got to be a good thing hasn’t it.
So. Breakthrough. I am going to be kinder to myself. I’m going to embrace being an inbetweenie. I’m going to wear the bloody clothes I want to wear, now, not when I’ve lost 2 stone. I can categorically guarantee that if I somehow managed to lose 2 stone, I still wouldn’t like myself anymore than I do now. I’d still find faults to pick at, problems that needed fixing, reasons to not be happy with who I am.
Would anyone else like me more if I was smaller? I doubt it. Would it make me a better mum, wife, daughter, sister, friend? Nope. Would anything in my life change, other than the number on the label inside my clothes?
So why in the effing jeff have I been doing this for the past 20 years of my life?!
I am fully aware that I am more than a little fucked up. But, I am really, REALLY going to work on this. The next compliment I get, whether it’s about how I look, what I say, how I park (joking, that would never happen) or even how I cook, I’m going to turn around, hear it, and say thank you. Maybe then they’ll start being saved in this big old mixed up brain of mine.