Flash my flesh?! No thanks!
I survived the night out! I had an amazing time, the music kept us dancing all night and the vodka sodas were aplenty.
I was actually not too hung-over the day after. I was able to get up and function normally though my body and feet were a little tired from all the boogying. The Fear I spoke about on my previous post was little to non-existent and we as a family had a lovely day watching Christmas movies snuggled on the floor.
Now what brings me to this post is body image.
I felt great on Saturday night, I had a new outfit that I felt good in, I had spent time on my makeup and my dooo was looking good. I was care free, having fun jumping around with my pals to music feeling like I was 17 again.
In night clubs they have photographers there, taking pictures to show off the clientele, venue and more likely the drunken horrors of the night before. You know the ones? They sneak up on you unexpectedly and snap! They have you! Forever remembered as the strange dance lady or sweaty man or half-cut Mrs.
We had many a picture taken.
The day after the picture appeared on the Facebook site and I froze.
I looked awful.
To be honest the angle was all wrong and I was clearly not ready for the picture but everyone else did look great. Bad picture...we all have them. It really put me in a low mood about my body image.
With lots of mums openly embracing the “mum tum” showing pictures of their tiger stripes that we lovingly grew with our children and muffin tops that are a trophy of bearing a child. I often wonder when I will start to love my post children body.
I have never really had a good body image. I was tall and lanky, awkward. I was 5’7 by the time I was 13. Towering over my classmates and would have fit in nicely with the 16 year olds.
I stooped, head down trying not to draw attention to myself, the giant. I wanted to be petit and dainty like my friends. I got unwanted attention from older boys, my body more mature than my mind. I hated it.
I have had moments where I have loved my body and parts of my body that I really like. I am not obsessed with it; it’s more a bugbear than hatred. I think I would be more likely to get my ass to the gym if it was. I think it’s the pain us women fight every day. I don’t look at magazines and wish I looked like that but I do compare myself to “real life” women. The people I see day to day, not in a judgey way I may add, more in a “I love her figure in that dress” as I poke my muffin top and imagine my soft doughy flesh squeezed in it. “Sigh”
Edit-please don't think I hate myself-I actually quite like me
I think I will never stop it, worrying about my body. I won’t be showing off my body on social media to help others with self-esteem (just yet...well never say never) I am only 9 months post partum with my son and am in my pre-pregnancy clothes, I look the same as I did before...with clothes on. Without them it’s another story.
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