Yep-that's me and my reflection-a bit skewed you say?
I'm not sure when this all started-I think I've been this way forever. But there are a few moments in time that stick out in my memory. And a lot of them have to do with boys.
In junior high, there was a boy who would wait for me in the hallway right before lunch. I had to walk past him to get to my locker and my brown-bag. As I passed him every day he would sing the old Jell-O commercial. Sing it with me now, "Watch it wiggle. See it jiggle." I wasn't a girlie-girl, I didn't wear make-up and my "uniform" was jeans and t-shirts. I didn't really think I was very pretty. And that torture every day certainly didn't help me feel good about myself.
Photo of me,walking away...
In high school pottery class, I encountered a dynamic duo of mean-spirited boys who cut away another chunk of my ability to appreciate what God gave me. It was 1987-a fun time for fashion. Big hair and crazy make-up. I had become very girlie by this time, in a rocker-chick kind of way. I loved mini-skirts and high heels. It was popular to wear short skirts with slouchy boots. These two guys sat at the table behind me while I attempted to create works of art with clay (which I have absolutely no talent for). One day, they were laughing and making stupid comments. They told me I had thick calves and dubbed me "Helga the Logging Queen", asking me to fetch them a dark beer. This became the joke for the remainder of the school year. So hilarious! I have hated my legs ever since.
If this is what I looked like in high school, how is that a bad thing?
I have had the male half of the population make derogatory comments about my legs, feet, arms and stomach over the years. I was told by an ex that his female friends liked me because I'm a regular-sized woman and not thin or attractive enough to be threatening. Was that a compliment? It sure didn't feel like it!
I know that I should learn to not care what other people think. I know that we all need to find acceptance in our own hearts and not to look for approval from anyone but ourselves. I know that what matters is my own opinion. But it's hard to shake those feelings-even though they stem from events 30 years old.
There are all kinds of versions of a perfect body
Jeff does his best to convince me I'm beautiful. He even says that my legs are his favorite part of me. And my booty. And my feet (which, incidentally, I was told by an ex look like I had webbed toes (which I don't). But still, I don't like them anymore). Jeff tells me every day that I'm pretty and has never said anything negative about any part of how I look, even after I put on a couple of pounds. He is a very sweet man, and I believe he is sincere. But 30-plus years of self-loathing and bad body-image is not something that goes away overnight. Maybe not ever, at least not entirely. I'm trying though. I do love my shape. And I think I've got a pretty decent rack (ok, maybe that's not the most lady-like thing I've ever said, but you gotta start somewhere, right?) And the healthier and stronger I get, the more I will learn to love my body, thick legs and all.
'Nuff said!
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