I’ve deleted a previous post I wrote about vanity-sizing and weight issues, because I’ve realised that my then indignation and righteousness was, in fact, a brain-fart. A hypocritical brain-fart. A blip on the black screen of my self-esteem. However, the statements were ones I, and all women, really should believe–that size doesn’t matter as long as you’re healthy, and that the goal of getting fit shouldn’t be getting skinnier. But for many of us, it does, and it is.

Weight, size, and general attractiveness has been a preoccupation of mine for many years. Some might say ‘obsession’, but really, I lack the discipline involved for it. Deep down, I think attractiveness should be natural–you have it or you don’t. When in reality, like most things, its something one has to work at, maintain. It’s a running joke in my family that whenever I become pregnant (sorry Mom, not yet), I will go nuts and constantly complain about how fat I am. Realistically, I worry that I will be like that. How messed up is that? This stuff, my low self-esteem takes over. I suppose its become a crutch, a blanket, a scape-goat.

Ah, I’ve written out a whole schpeel about myself, but you know what? No one cares, and I don’t mean that in a callous way. It’s just–everyone has their own problems.  I could talk a yarn about high school, and university, and how its affected and possibly ruined some great friendships and relationships because I never felt good enough, I’ve always felt like I have to impress other people. I’m not really even writing this for you (or the 2 people probably reading this–Hi, ladies), I’m writing it for me. Catharsis. Words of encouragement only last for so long, and I’m not asking for any. I need to WAKE UP. SNAP OUT OF IT. Because I can say as much as I like that my crazy is no where near as bad as it was in high school or uni, but it’s still there. At least I haven’t taken it to extremes like in the past, but it’s still affecting my life.  I need to take on board the realities I know, and discard the warped version of things I seemingly cling to. The main problem is inside. And I need some knowledge-wisdom-whatever dropped on me so that I can change for keeps.

2 responses »

  1. youngwifey says:

    I agree that there’s to much societal pressure… Everyone feels it some way or another.

  2. Riotflower says:

    Let’s make age 30 the start of COMPLETE contentment with ourselves. It may not happen at 10, 950 days lived + 1, but it will be the beginning of a total process. How does that sound? : * )

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