Flippant Flamingo #4
Cellulite. The radio is screaming at me that cellulite is the “unattractive lumpy-appearing fat that gathers around YOUR thighs, hips, and butt!”
“Yup cellulite is definitely a check” I think, turning around in the mirror. “Thighs, check. Hips, check. Butt, double check.”
This has become a morning ritual- no matter how tired, how bleary-eyed, how depressed I feel, I force myself to stand in front of this mirror for at least five minutes, completely naked and without reserve.
My breasts, well, they are a shape Vogue would definitely not approve of. I came to terms with this yesterday, along with the scars from years of self-hate that crisscross them in a checkerboard pattern. I’ll deal with those tomorrow.
Last week, it was my neck and ears (newly pierced, after I could handle drawing that much attention to my face). I tried to come to terms with my nose, round as it is, but just couldn’t bring myself to do that. Luckily, my eyes don’t need anything except the contacts. I like my eyes. They change color, from hazel to green to brown. My eyes, uneven as they are, are my best feature. I think.
My feet, which a friend once called “Hobbit Feet” are… well, I can’t really change what they are. They’re big, they’re slightly wider than normal, and they take the brunt of my everyday abuse. No problems there, except for buying dress shoes.
This is what I do every morning. I have for the past month, and will for the next year. Why? Because I am happy with who I am. Every roll of cellulite, every bit of extra padding, every inappropriatebulge, the “extra curvy” parts of myself make me smile. The advertisers will never put me on the front page. There are plenty of men and women who look at me and think to themselves “thank god I never let myself go like that!” but after 20 years of hating who I am, taking every new pill possible, restricting what I ate down to mere 100 calories a day, and binging on 10,000 a day, I have decided I’ve had enough.
This, this is what makes me happy. What makes me smile in the morning. The knowledge that others don’t see this about me- that I deconstruct every small imperfection, because I know it is those imperfections that make me beautiful.
“Yup cellulite is definitely a check” I think, turning around in the mirror. “Thighs, check. Hips, check. Butt, double check.”
This has become a morning ritual- no matter how tired, how bleary-eyed, how depressed I feel, I force myself to stand in front of this mirror for at least five minutes, completely naked and without reserve.
My breasts, well, they are a shape Vogue would definitely not approve of. I came to terms with this yesterday, along with the scars from years of self-hate that crisscross them in a checkerboard pattern. I’ll deal with those tomorrow.
Last week, it was my neck and ears (newly pierced, after I could handle drawing that much attention to my face). I tried to come to terms with my nose, round as it is, but just couldn’t bring myself to do that. Luckily, my eyes don’t need anything except the contacts. I like my eyes. They change color, from hazel to green to brown. My eyes, uneven as they are, are my best feature. I think.
My feet, which a friend once called “Hobbit Feet” are… well, I can’t really change what they are. They’re big, they’re slightly wider than normal, and they take the brunt of my everyday abuse. No problems there, except for buying dress shoes.
This is what I do every morning. I have for the past month, and will for the next year. Why? Because I am happy with who I am. Every roll of cellulite, every bit of extra padding, every inappropriatebulge, the “extra curvy” parts of myself make me smile. The advertisers will never put me on the front page. There are plenty of men and women who look at me and think to themselves “thank god I never let myself go like that!” but after 20 years of hating who I am, taking every new pill possible, restricting what I ate down to mere 100 calories a day, and binging on 10,000 a day, I have decided I’ve had enough.
This, this is what makes me happy. What makes me smile in the morning. The knowledge that others don’t see this about me- that I deconstruct every small imperfection, because I know it is those imperfections that make me beautiful.
posted by Anonymous at 8:52 AM
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