When this picture was taken, I thought I was fat.
I was a size 6.
And now? Well, I’m quite certain that right now I am, in fact, what if you were being very polite, you would call “curvy.” So when I look back at this picture? I want to slap that girl and tell her to enjoy that body while she has it.
But I know she would just roll her eyes at me.
Truth is, I’ve always struggled with my body image. I’ve always felt just a little bit awkward in my own skin. I was all of ten when I put myself on my first diet. Ten.
Since then, my weight has yo-yoed dramatically, sending me into sizes as big as 18 and as small as the aforementioned 6. And while I’m generally at my happiest and healthiest at an 8 or a 10, I’ve never actually been “happy” with what I see in the mirror.
Why do I bring that up now? Well, because I have a daughter. A daughter who’s starting to understand what’s going on in the world around her. And I? Can’t stop putting myself down. Can’t stop using the words “fat” and “ugly” in reference to my reflection.
And Internet? It won’t be long before she starts to pick up on what I’m saying. It won’t be long before she starts modeling her behavior after mine. And I do not want her to go through life with baggage like mine.
But I can’t seem to stop. I keep telling myself that after I lose the next ten pounds, I’ll feel better about myself. When I can finally run a 5K again, I’ll feel sexy. When I can fit into my pre-preggo jeans again, I’ll be proud of the woman I see in the mirror.
I’m not sure I believe me, though. Do you?
See the other Wordful Wednesday entries at Seven Clown Circus.