Perfectly Me

Do you know what? I’m happy with how I look.

I’m not skinny and I’m not pretty (well, not model pretty, but I guess I’m alright), but I like the way I look and I like who I am.

It has been a very long road to get here… but… I do.

I like my style and I take pride in my appearance. I like to wear makeup and wear my hair long and down.

I fastidiously and obsessively prune and pluck my eyebrows – because they frame the face and give me more confidence and make me feel good. I darken them slightly with a pencil because they are blonde and you can’t see them. No, I do not like or have scouse brows – heaven forfended!

I don’t like the lines on my face, but love the lines on my belly, my stretchmarks. My four girls and my two twinkly stars have left their mark on me and I am fiercely proud of them.

I don’t like my build – short legs and a long body – the opposite of how I would want to be built, if I had the choice. It makes buying trousers hard work as I have 27 inch inside legs! But I’m good, I can deal. I never once struggled to get a date in my ill-gotten youth, so I can’t be that bad.

I like 50’s style clothes, but I also wear goth style clothes too. I also own a lot of butterfly print tops.

As for my size, I’ve been a size 14 (UK) since I was about 22 – and I don’t care. I’m happy with that.

I’m happy with all of that.

I was dangerously thin at one point in my very early twenties and I was miserable being that way. I just stopped eating because there was so much worry and stress going on, so I literally wasted away. To not only get my weight up but to also maintain it at where I am happy with it, is remarkable, frankly.

I have curves that aren’t too big and aren’t too small. I have a great figure and I’m very proud of it. I don’t give a hairy Malcom if you care or if I don’t fit some ideal in your head. I fit the ideal (a healthy ideal at that) in my own mind and my husband’s mind and that is enough for me.

The inspiration for this post, came from someone I was talking to at the weekend, that told me I was ‘in denial’ because of my weight. This person has been weirdly obsessed with my weight since I was an underweight 14 year old girl. Yeah, freaky.

After lots of visits to the Doctors over the years with one thing or another (more recently about a month ago this was updated), I know my BMI is perfectly fine and below the level where I would be considered overweight.

Apart from a couple of boring health things I have going on all the time, I’m absolutely fine. I’m pretty damn happy about that.

That stupid comment, which years ago would have really chewed into the fibres of my soul, just sounded a bit weird. It just fell dud and awkward at my feet and left me thinking “well, you ate a whole bowl of stupid dick this morning didn’t you? Did you wash it down with a cup of delusional too?”

I think it says way more about the person saying it, than about me.

It also highlighted though, how I can now shrug off petty comments about me. Before, I would take them to heart and be wounded deeply, pondering where and how I went so terribly wrong as to have caused upset, wrong or offense.

I was like that my whole life, right up until… well, I don’t know. Right up until now, when I first noticed that this person’s stupid, baseless comment didn’t hurt and left me at best, a bit weirded out.

I think I was a bit taken aback for a few minutes after I told them they were talking out of their own insecure and large posterior (I hate conflict), but walking away I found myself bemused by the weirdness of it, than ready to cry about it.

What a paradigm shift.

So I thought I would share it and perhaps, give others a positive experience too.

Do not let the idiots grind you down. It is them piling their insecurities on you and fixating their ideals. As long as you are healthy and happy – screw em. If you’re not? Stay close to those who love you and genuinely care about you and have a realistic sense of you as a person.

I know I am not perfect in other people’s views –  but that is a standard they set themselves (which is not always societies fault) and therefore I don’t want to tick their box. I want to tick my own box and that of the only man who can handle me – my husband. I’m too fat/stupid/ugly/blonde for you? Great guns. I wasn’t born to please you, so jog on.

Chin up one and all 😉

Cat x

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