The power of one


For a long time now I have been ashamed of my body. Near fifteen years in fact, if you want to put a time frame to it. I saw it as a representation of who I was in the worst kind of way. I thought that people would judge me by the way I looked…and I really cared about that. In fact I thought it was almost everything. That is the way a lot of people are programmed to think, even now, in a society that is supposed to promote individuality of all kinds.

Back then I was younger and trimmer and so much more naïve. I thought if I didn’t get peoples’ attention with the way I looked, I wouldn’t get a look in at showing them who I really was, anywhere past that. So I kept trim by neglecting myself rather than doing it the right way. I didn’t eat, drank lots of alcohol, stayed overactive, fully caffeinated and generally put my body under all of the wrong kinds of pressure. At the end of the day I was the right clothing size… and a whole lot of fucked up.

I used my body as a tool to get what I wanted, which back then was probably affection, but I let attention substitute, whoever it came from. I can’t stress enough in retrospect, how horrible that road was to walk.

Once I settled down it just got a whole lot worse. I hated the way I looked, felt and carried myself, to hide what I thought was a horrible, unattractive version of the self I used to be. Instead of dealing with the problem, I bought clothes that were too big to cover any curves that ‘shouldn’t be there’ and resigned myself to the fact that it was just the way I was going to be. Period.
My mind just kicked along for the ride, hating.
Nobody else saw it as a problem. I was fine. The extra 20kgs didn’t matter. Except to me… I knew they were there, mostly around my throat, threatening to choke me.

The two years just passed have brought so many massive changes, but one of the more significant ones is nowhere else but in my head.  I recognized the fact that I hated the way I looked and the way that made me feel. In all honesty the feelings started with insignificance, worthlessness and just escalated from there.
I did. Not everyone else. Me. I hated it. But that’s where love is supposed to start, with yourself. That’s where everything stems from…self-worth, self-love, self-esteem.

Over the last four months I decided to start doing things the right way, beginning in my head and translating physically into transformation. Eating properly and exercising regularly was the start, but getting focus on what I wanted, and why I was doing it, was more important. So putting my mind and body together in sync was the key.
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I’m still not happy with the way I look, but it feels good to have a goal to work towards. Even better, it feels good to see a little more improvement every day. I have kept a photo diary of progress, and looking back at day 1, when I feel disgusted with myself, brings amazing results. It makes me want to keep going, to not buy the junk food, to make the salad, to drink the water, to smile. That’s important too, to celebrate the small successes on the road to bigger ones. Smile a lot.

Slowly I am starting to realise that my clothes are all fitting differently in a good way, that I actually want water, enjoy the salad and don’t crave the junk food (well, maybe sometimes). I also look forward to my workouts and try and fit a little more assorted general exercise into my day where I can. I’ve started skipping driving to places I can walk to, running about with my girls more, feeling better.
Fucking GO me! Ha!

I am finally listening to the zillion people telling me that I should be looking after myself (or at least I’ll let them think that), but the most important voice is mine. I should have been telling myself this long ago. I should have listened to my mind before it started hating me and the assault on my liver replaced conscious thought process. I should have realised that I was worth the effort and the time I am spend on making myself happy long before now.

They say that timing is everything, and maybe now was just the right time for this to happen. I say that mostly because now I know that people will still judge me by the way I look…but I no longer care. If someone is shallow enough to weigh a person up (I know, I know) by the way they look alone, (although there are a few exceptions here, and one of them includes black and white stripes and cannot be unseen), then they have no place in my world. I refuse to assimilate with the brainless, well dressed vaginas and I won’t conform to normal and boring. I am a 30something year old woman with vampire fangs on my belt buckle, a skull and crossbones on my purse and ripped jeans. I like weird shit and complex people, so why did I ever care what the average Joe on the street thought of the way I looked?

Thank-you to all the people in my sphere. Thank-you to old friends for not judging me (openly…often) and giving me raw advice when I need it (even if I don’t take it). Thank-you to new friends for telling me I’m beautiful, interesting and worthy of respect, without any ulterior motive than respect itself, and for just being there.  Thank-you to all those who accept me for who I am, and encourage me to be just that. From now on, I think I’m going to do just that too. 🙂

Cheers Kids-sleep tight


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