I love (secretly loathe) myself.

 

I’ve read all the inspirational Blogs, I’ve seen all the inspirational memes and drunk in all the love yourself quotes. I am a strong, independent woman and I love my body!

 

Except maybe my stomach, it does sort of stick out like I’m pregnant all of the time.

 

 

But enough of that. Look at this post right here. This woman is big and she is stunning. She’s so happy and gorgeous and an inspiration. I love her, if she is happy then why am I holding myself back. Look at me. I’m gorgeous too. I’m a strong, independent woman damn it and I have got this.

 

 

Then again, look at her stomach. It doesn’t stick out like mine. It’s all very well saying to love who you are when you are all in proportion and your stomach is flat and you don’t have stretch marks.

 

 

What is this self-deprecating nonsense? I am a tiger and I earned my stripes: that is what the internet tells me.  I carried my babies and my body is a god damn beautiful miracle working machine.

 

 

It’s just, well; there are a lot of stripes.  All over me. I can’t undress with the lights on because of those stripes and when I squish them all up they kind of pucker and I don’t feel I earned them at all.

 

 

Now look there, the model in that advertisement is wearing those jeans you like and doesn’t she look amazing. She’s curvy, she’s fabulous and she is working it. If she can look amazing then so can I and I know it too? I can look in that mirror and I can see fabulous because I am a strong, independent woman and I know how to dress myself.

 

 

I do remember that time I tried on those jeans though, I can’t lie, that first pair were the best. My butt was perky, my legs were long and I owned them. So much so I picked up a second pair to take in the fitting room too; same jeans, same brand, same size, same style, different colour.

 

 

I remember pulling that second pair up and hitting my thighs and thinking, oh that’s a little tight, then squeezing them up and over my hips and pulling the waistband and the feeling when the button was 4” away from the hole.  I remember the moment I tried to take them off and first realised they were stuck and the way it felt for a second as though my heart had stopped in horror.  I remember pulling and pulling and thinking I had heard them rip and getting more and more panicky and having to lie on the floor with my feet against the wall as I wiggled my way out of them, then the relief as they finally slid down.   I remember walking out of the fitting room with both pairs of jeans and thrusting them at the sales lady refusing to make eye contact with a mumbled ‘no thanks’  as I headed straight for the door and then I remember the cake I ate to make myself feel better.

 

 

I remember it all.

It took a while to go jeans shopping again.

 

 

 

Oh, but look at these women here. So accomplished in their field, so intelligent, so amazing, and so fearless, these women here are my role models. These are the women I aspire to be like. The women who stand up and be counted and proudly show the world just how amazing they are; I am a strong independent woman and I can be like them.

 

 

Now,  look at my news feed so many targeted fitness posts.  Do this for 21 days and be fixed, do this for 14 days and get there faster, do this for 7 days and it will change your life. Do something… you are flawed… we can fix you…become someone else.

 

 

I am a strong independent woman……

No, wait.

 

I am a strong woman……

Sort of.

 

I am a woman…..

I think that’s close.

 

I am so confused…..

Yes. That’s it.

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