So, Hey if you've never met me in real life, I'm voluptuous. I say this in my head the same way a person might say, hey, I have a communicable/venereal disease. I'm not ashamed of my body. OH nononono. I just feel like everyone else is. I feel like my boobs enter a room before I do. I feel like my butt knocks things over of it's own accord and my thighs(my least favorite and most zaftig body part) well, I could wax poetic all day, but I won't bore you.
I have said before and I'll say again, I love the things my body has done, I have three wonderful children(when they are sleeping...or medicated) and I have ran races and delivered a million trays of food and I can swim and bike and play soccer and volleyball.
Yet somehow, I always apologize for myself, when no apology is necessary.
I recently embarked on a new adventure(code word for torture) at work I like to call front of house managing(to those unfamiliar with the resturant industry this means 'complaint handler/jane of all trades)and I have to DRESS UP.
In my life before children, I kind of liked to dress up, granted this was almost eight years ago and long, flowy skirts were in, as were boy pants with suspenders, but I digress. Now, I hate to dress up. Because it means, well, it means some sort of body shaper is generally in order. blech.
I'm pretty honest.
I'm like a five on the angel to politician scale. But I'm not Oprah, I could not on live TV talking about all the business my spanx hold in.
But I will tell you this, I don't wear those suckers every day. Or even most days. I wear them when I do not want to see a muffin toppy roll over the tops of my pants and when the line of my outfit is compromised( which is almost always when I'm dressing up)
It occurs to me, even as I write this, that I've kind of always thought that I'm not exactly thin (but hey, what teenage girl doesn't)
I think however what I'm really trying to say is, that although I'm fine in my house when I'm chilling (as I so frequently chill) when I go out into the world, I still feel the need to suck it in.
I like me, and that guy I married is still a fan(bless his heart) so I've got what matters and yet..still with the funny underwear.
I believe what I see in the mirror (and believe me...although I spared myself only cursory glances in the mirror through my twenties, I've been examing pretty hard here lately botox diaries style) and I'm pretty OK. I mean, I've never been a cover girl, but I think I still got it( and by got it, I mean most of my teeth and decent eyelashes)
My point and remember when I was just (sweet martha already) going to get to it?is this, all women are beautiful, in some way, at some point and if we don't recognize it for ourselves it may not be recognized. Mass consumerism is always going to want us to buy into thinner is better, but if you take care of yourself and don't neglect your health, maybe we can just suck it up on our own and let the funny underwear stay at the bottom of the drawer.