Here’s a revolutionary statement: Why can’t we put two fingers in the air and just say ‘Guess what? I love myself! I’m a bombass human. I look great. And beyond all this wobbly, stretchy skin stuff, I’m also pretty darn good on the inside, too’? Yes, I may have listened to ‘The Greatest Showman’ soundtrack one too many times (as if that’s a thing you can overdo), but I’ve been thinking and feeling a whole lot of this for a while. Excuse my French, but seriously. Fuck. This. How dare we build up and validate a society and a narrative that tells us we shouldn’t like ourselves, that we should constantly be trying to make unrealistic changes that aren’t obtainable or do-able or, you know, fair? Honestly, get out. And jolly well close the door behind you.
I’m not delusional. I know it’s not that simple. I’m painfully aware that you can’t grasp hold of one strong, albeit still shaky, moment and call yourself an advocate for body positivity, or suddenly be so self-assured of who you are. You can’t do that and not still struggle every single day. But that doesn’t take away from the fact I’m so done with it all and maybe there’s some glimmer of hope that that’s the turning point?
Hating yourself isn’t worth it. It’s not worth all the sacrifices and subsequent regrets, it’s not worth looking in the mirror and being disappointed, somehow tricking yourself into thinking something would give, or you’d miraculously feel acceptable. It’s so not worth it. Because no one else even sees it. Sees the flaws you pick and choose, deciding to fixate on this one for most of your teens and quickly jump ship to take a chunk out of the self confidence you thought you’d barely scraped together in your early twenties.
I am tired of nit-picking and seeking out flaws when I should be discovering all my best bits. Because there’s loads, some of them even body related, whether or not I can see them. It doesn’t matter. No one else looks at you like you look at yourself. And anyone who is looking at you that long? Damn, they might even be falling in love with your bundle of insecurities. Wouldn’t that be a plot twist?
What I guess I’m trying to say is I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting with my body over and over again, going over the same things, not progressing, not really moving forward. I’m tired, so can we call it quits?