Mirror, mirror: The self-image post
This is me:
But, whatever you may see in those pictures…may or may not be what *I* see.
I see an awful nose.
I see un-toned arms and flab.
I see a belly button that was an outtie for almost 6 months.
I see a tummy that looks much different than what it did pre-pregnancy (it used to be toned, now not so much).
I see thighs that rub together.
Knees that are not what models are made of.
Angular (bony) wrists.
Small chest (which is also not in the shape it was pre-Lorelei).
I see dark hair that stands out on light skin.
For years, I didn’t like who I was. At 22, I’m learning to love myself. All of me. It doesn’t mean that I have to “let myself go,” it simply means that I can love my body as is and appreciate the beautiful things it can (and has) do(ne). It means that instead of looking in the mirror and frowning, I’ll do a few crunches and pushups most days – but, not necessarily go through surgery after surgery to be made into everything I’m not. It means realizing that I’m not that airbrushed chic on the front of the magazine. It means that I don’t have to watch the scale just to make sure it doesn’t tip over 100…because it’s OKAY if I weigh more. It’s OKAY.
Certain clothing designers have been quoted saying that they want “human clothes hangers” for their models. And yet, many of us aspire to be that. We want to be thin, with thighs that don’t touch. We want to be tall. We want our tummies to be flat and a C cup. We want to be tan, and possibly even airbrushed. And, yet…for most of us…it’s not natural. And, we hate ourselves for it. You tell me I’m pretty, and I’ll say “thank you.” In my head, I’m thinking of every reason that makes me “not pretty.” We, women have this horrible thing we do. We pick ourselves apart and hate on ourselves more than anyone else.
And, why? Are we afraid someone else will if we don’t? – That we need to beat them to the punch?
I see beauty in so many things, and yet…sometimes, I have trouble seeing it in my own mirror. And, that…is just plain sad. Ridiculous, even. I cannot control the events in my life that have made me who I am and the things that have impacted my self esteem. But, you know what – I CAN control how I let it affect me NOW. And, this is what I choose:
My body may not be as thin or as toned as it was. It may not be as tan or “perfect” as some. But, it doesn’t make it less beautiful. My body is not a human coat hanger, nor would I ever wish it to be. My body created, housed, fed, and nurtured a beautiful miracle for 9 1/2 months. My body has withstood the crap I’ve put it through, time and time again (brownie bite after brownie bite). Some of the features of my body have been passed down (inherited) from certain family members (nose, square feet, etc.), and instead of hating them because they aren’t what everyone else calls “perfect” – I am choosing to love them. Now. It’s who I am and where I came from. This is who I choose to be.