Over the years I’ve come to accept the fact that my body is just that. My body. Growing up we get this image of what the perfect body should look like, how the perfect body should operate. Even in my marriage (not that I was married to the best man in the world) But I was constantly being compared to every other female around me.
“Why can’t you look more like that?”
“Why don’t you try a little harder?”
Wear this, do that, have your hair like this, cover this bit up, show this bit off…. around and around and around.
It was hard not to feel like crap because of things I can’t change about myself. I’m sorry I don’t have the biggest breasts in the world, or the picture perfect lips (thank you, OCD), or thighs that don’t jiggle when I take a step…or that my nose is too big, or my one ear is too pointed, or that you don’t like the shape of my eyebrows. That I don’t wear skimpy clothing.
I am who I am. This is me. My body is for me. Not for you. If I choose to share it with you, you’re taking it as is. I can’t shrink this, or grow those. I don’t dress for you. I dress for me.
One of the biggest things I’m learning to accept is that I can’t just flip a switch and suddenly become fertile. This has been my biggest issue with my body for the last going on five years now. I’ve beaten myself up. Shamed myself. Told myself I was worthless, broken, useless, less than. I’ve told my body some not so nice things in the process. And for that, dear body, I am truly sorry. You might not do all you were intended to do. But you are by no means less than. Or useless. Or worthless. You are all that I need you to be and more. Even if you’re a bit slow to start up in some areas. We’ll get there someday. You and I.