Many of my friends have days that may classify as "bad hair days" or days when they just don't feel they look their best - though we on the outside think they look just beautiful. It is one of those things that can be hard for others to see - that lack of confidence or when your inner voice is your toughest critic. Sometimes your "self-talk" is very negative.
I know, you see, because for most of my life I have felt what can hardly be described as anything other than self-loathing.
How does that happen? How does a girl grow up to hate the very image of herself in a piece of glass? To hate the thought that someone ~ anyone, somewhere has an (unflattering) picture of her. In my mind, they are all unflattering - all capturing some large or minute imperfection.
It comes slowly, built on day by day as one listens to those who purport to love her. They tell her things that they say are "trying to help"...."we only want the best for you"....
"You shouldn't eat that.....don't wear those pants, they make you look fat....no one will love you if you are bigger than a size 10.....you won't keep a man.....your hair looks awful that way...those thighs have got to go.....I think you should just have salad tonight......your stomach is sticking out.....turn around - do you see that bulge....I wouldn't wear shorts if I was you....thank God you are at least smart....don't go sleeveless....you have panty lines.......don't wear knit - it clings to your fat.....you'll never look like ____ (enter best friend's name)......why would you think to order that......maybe you shouldn't eat tonight...."
I could go on for pages....chapters even and all with the same message - you don't measure up (no pun intended) and so, you are not lovable, not cute, not good enough. Not even your family loves you....
I'm not sure when it started really. It seems like Dad was always telling me I needed to diet or Mom was always cooking something "low-fat" for me. I guess it probably started at puberty when I started to develop curves. Now, I will be the first to tell you that kids can be mean ~ but they aren't your family and you can go home and get away from them. I couldn't get away. Ever.
I developed full-fledged bulimia in senior year of High School. I never did throw up though - I abused laxatives - seemed easier to hide. Throughout that year, I did anything I could to be a "single-digit" size. It didn't work. So, I started eating every other day. Still no luck. I would go down to the basement for HOURS each evening to exercise. I would do 100 leg lifts, 200, 500.....I measured my waist, hips, legs, arms EVERY day....I was so afraid that I would never get a date if I couldn't get thinner.....
What no one ever told me was that I have a body type that tends toward athleticism and an hour-glass figure. The classic beauty of Marilyn Monroe or Doris Day with feminine curves was in my future, not the androgynous, flat-chested look of a cover model.
Through my twenties and into my thirties, I would obsessively measure body parts and feel sick fear with what the tape measure said. Pregnancy was pure Hell on earth as I had no control over what was happening to my body. Though I did stop using laxatives so the baby would be healthy. I did 30 - 40 minutes of sit ups during my pregnancy with Marcos until the doctor ordered me to stop in the 7th month.
After he was born, both motherhood and the onset of my auto-immune disease, Progressive Hashimoto's Thyroiditis caused me to step back and take a look at my life. I started to see things differently and understood that I had some serious baggage in my life. Part of my journey back was realizing that if I stayed where I was and listened to my "family" tell me how unlovable I was, I would never be the Mom that Marcos deserved.
That inner resolve to do better for him is part of what drove me to move to Texas. I was afraid my family would give him his own baggage to carry through life and I wouldn't allow that to happen. I took the "bull by the horns" and moved to Houston and then to Dallas and made a life for Marcos.
Through the grace of God, I met David and we fell in love and built a family. I still have fear ~ that I may pass on poor self-esteem to my kids, that others will see through the veneer of self-confidence to what is hiding inside - a scared, shy woman who is afraid no one will like her because she is bigger than a size 10.....
It's been 10 years since I married David. I still have those feelings of low self-worth - though some days I think my face looks pretty okay for a 43 year old woman.....some days I like my hair...I'm working out again ~ for me. Not to be a certain size, but to be stronger and more flexible.
My goal for this anniversary is to go out to dinner with my husband and for me to feel good when we have our picture taken.
I'm gonna reach that goal.
