I am totally jealous of my daughter, Ella. There, I said it. And for many reasons, too. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be five again? The other day her biggest worry (after I canceled her doc appt to have a mole removed, thus eliminating that worry) was which flavor Dum Dum to choose at the bank. I mean really. That’s the life, right?
Honestly though, this whole thought/blog post was spurred from our little shopping adventure the other day. She will be starting kindergarten in a couple of weeks (I am already crying thinking about it) so naturally she needs a whole new wardrobe. We were in the fitting room at none other than Target and I snapped these pictures:
She stood in front of that mirror for a solid several minutes and just posed, giggled, twirled and jumped. That little routine was on repeat with each outfit she tried on. I could feel the confidence beaming from her. As much as it warmed my heart, it also gave me a little bit of jealousy. Yes, jealousy.
Let me preface this by saying this is in no way me fishing for compliments. I am merely being honest and raw.
You see, each day I struggle (like I am sure most women do). I have chatted about this before publicly (I gave a “Post Secret” speech in front of my students and co workers, when I was a teacher). I have issues. My life revolves around what I look like, and not in an egotistical way. Going hand in hand with that, it also revolves around food (what I eat, what I don’t eat, how many calories I consume, etc). I can never just eat to live. If I over eat today, you better believe I will under eat tomorrow. I know- save the lectures.
I am constantly scrutinizing myself. Always. It seems to have gotten worse over the years too, which is funny, because don’t most women become more confident the older they get? I seem to be regressing in that department. I think of it as some sort of sick, twisted disease that I can’t seem to find a cure for.
I know I had two children, gave them life, brought them into the world. I get that. But its because of that, and all the extra baggage that comes along with it that I have truly never felt so disgusting in my entire life. Ever. Its kind of ironic (I think that’s the right word) that I am blogging, and posting picture after picture of myself for the world to see every.single.day. And I despise how I look. I think part of it is just the stresses in my life, with having two children and a business to run (but I do have the most supportive, loving, caring husband there ever was), but mainly my weight. I hate how I let that stupid number on the scale define me. I let it control me.
Every bump, dimple (you say cellulite, I say dimple), every stretch mark, every roll of excess skin (the “f” word is so gross to me), I see. And that is all I see. I can’t look in the mirror and think- “oh hey strong woman who mother’s two children and has pretty decent eyelashes!” Nope. All the bad outweighs the good.
One thing I can say that I am proud of, is that I NEVER and I mean NEVER let Ella (and Charlotte, even though she is only 10 months) see me criticize myself or pick myself apart in front of the mirror. My poor husband gets to hear all of that, which I am sure never gets old (I love you, Ry!). It is so important to me that Ella and Charlotte do not turn out like me. I often joke that I hope they have Ryan’s metabolism (which is pretty amazing) so they don’t have my body type or build. But you know what? Deep down, who cares? Even if they are built like me and have my metabolism, as long as they are confident and feel good about themselves, I am good with that. They are more than a number on a scale- its not what defines them (now if I could only let myself believe that).
I look at my daughters, particularly Ella at her age now, and wonder if I was ever that confident. I would imagine I was, but when did that end, and why? Was there every a time when I looked in the mirror and said the things Ella says about herself? “I am so beautiful, Mommy!” “Look how pretty this dress is on me!” “Aren’t I smart, Mommy?” This is when the jealousy and envy kick in- to be that confident and comfortable!
I think I am partly to blame for this mindset because I let it control me. It’s not my parents, because I was raised in a very loving family. I never heard my mom criticize herself, and always remember my Dad complimenting both her and me. But besides myself, I also think society is partly to blame. There is this standard that has been set that thin is beautiful. Period. Some people, like myself, try their hardest to live up to that standard while beating themselves to the ground. Why the heck should I care what society thinks of me? I mean seriously!
I am trying to work on it though. I have been saying that for years, but I honestly think it is something I will always be working on.
Wow so there went all of my heart I just poured out to you all. If you get anything from this post at all PLEASE let it be that you are more than the number on the scale, or the stretchmarks on your stomach, or the dimples on your tooshie. Don’t let any of that define you.
And now, to end on a positive and funny note (and because I can’t be serious all the time)
Have a wonderful day!
Linking up with Shanna today!