Mixed Messages. Thankyouverymuch.

I went to Ross the other day.  I wanted new jeans to wear to work.  I love Fridays just for that reason.  I found a darling pair of Jessica Simpson ‘jeggings’.  This actually gave me a moment of pause so I *gasp* tried them on.  I never ever try things on.  They were a smaller size than I usually wear but really, size is relative.  I own size 4’s and I own size 11’s and right this moment…all those items fit me.  Thank you standardized sizing.  Not.  Oh they were CUTE.  Zipped right up.  Fit like a dream.  Would look SO darling with my little boot/shoes that I live in for comfort.

Here was the problem (do NOT send me hate mail or hate comments.  We are all allowed our issues). I have never loved my thighs.  Even when I was a tiny little 105lbs.  Now I have these little pockets of~how do I say this delicately~ unattractiveness under my butt that screams “Hey there!  Maybe just a couple more pounds to go before the jeggings are a good idea.  Just a kind suggestion!”  Sadness.  I left them at Ross and wore my old jeans to work.

Here it is a few weeks later and I did in fact buy new skinny jeans (note, not jeggings).  I still think they are a tad too tight.  But I tried them on and had a conversation with my husband. (side note: I do not ask my husband if I look fat in things so first I had to explain what the problem was and then I had to ask a man’s opinion).  I explained my dilemna.  He looked at them objectively, “turn around, let me look at your butt”.  Now that we have THAT out of the way… he said it was barely discernible (he is brutally honest) and they looked great on me.

Which led to me thinking of this post.  I can hear women everywhere expressing their outrage at my even having this conversation with myself AND my husband.  Why can’t I accept my body the way it is?  For heavens sake, I’m so small, what is my problem?  I can wear anything I want!

This is clearly the media’s fault.  The media creates the perception of perfection we all feel we have to reach for,  leaving us all feeling inadequate no matter what size we are.

I can easily wear a size 6 and I’m left feeling less than beautiful, less than… well, less than. I will always needing to reach for a better me.  My stomach could be flatter but it’ll never be great because I have my scar from my surgery.  My breasts will never be the full round breasts they were at one time because I gave birth to three beautiful children.  Are the scars my badges of honor?  hm.  They don’t really feel like it. They feel like just more flaws in who I am.  When I look at them, I think, this is what my husband sees.  And it does make me a little sad.  Sad that I don’t just love and accept my body for what it is, yes.  And sad the scars of time and life have changed my body and not the way I would choose it.

Don’t get me wrong, my husband loves me and I know he loves me just the way I am.  But come ON.  You don’t think he’d love perky beautiful round breasts and a flawless long perfect legs?  Wait.  Why am I perpetuating the issue?  Why am I helping to create the beast?  I’m making a point.  I don’t think we can for one minute blame this just on the media.

I am so weary of the population as a whole~ WOMEN IN PARTICULAR~ being such hypocrites as to blame blame blame.   But they are among the first ones to post photos on Facebook of overweight women dressed in a skimpy outfit with a caption “this is so wrong” or “who let her out of the house?” …you get the idea.  If every woman is supposed to EMBRACE her body, ACCEPT her body, LOVE her body then why do we humiliate her on websites that purposely make fun of their bodies and what they are wearing?

When we went out to Jazz the other night there was a woman at the very front of the bar who just got up and danced in front of everyone. She was probably bothering a few people because she was obscuring the view and she wasn’t 5’9″ and a hot blonde.  She didn’t care that she was alone.  She didn’t care that she didn’t look like a model.  I can tell you she was wearing a zip up sweatshirt and “mom” jeans.  She danced like no one was watching.  It made us smile.  Because she obviously was so happy and having such a wonderful time.

Oh to have that level of confidence.  In my next life.