I've hated my body for a long time. I hated it when it was skinny, it hated it when it was fat. I hated it young, and I hate it now that it's getting older. The problem is, all this hate isn't doing me any good. Hating my body has made hate and anger creep in to other aspects of my life that I don't hate, and that makes me angry.
I wish I could pinpoint where this poor self-image came from, but I don't know. I do know that it has run unchecked for most of my life, and that has to stop.
Not being happy with myself makes my marriage difficult. It hurts my kids. It bothers my friends.
And that hurts me.
Lately, I have been trying to turn things around. I've been trying to learn to love my body. I want to improve it, yes, but I want to learn not to hate it anymore. I am trying to learn to see it as a gift, a work of art, and maybe even that cliched temple people are always going on about. I've been doing body image exercises to learn to become comfortable with myself. This blog is an extension of that.
Here, I will air my grievances. Here, I will talk about my struggles and insecurities.
Here, I will post pictures of myself and the body I am trying to learn to love.
This is not an easy picture to post. This is my belly in all its glory. My babies grew here and I bear the scars. Jackson like to lay his head on my tummy and tell me how soft it is. This hurts my feelings because I don't want to be soft and fat, but to my son, it's beautiful.
My breasts also bear "tiger stripes". They are large and scarred, but my husband loves them. They nursed my children. They hurt my back. One of them bears a large scar from heart surgery I had when I was three. I've often talked about wanting to get them reduced or lifted, or having implants so they would be the same size.
I need to learn to appreciate the folds and rolls. The scars and dimples. They are as much a part of me as my sense of humor, my boisterous laugh, the way I pout when I cry. This body tells a very unique story.
This body is a gift.
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