Rambling thoughts on self-image

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything really personal on here. When I first started blogging, I wrote a few posts on being me, on fear and on contentment. I touched on my battles with depression, my poor self-image and my history of eating disorders.

Over the past couple of years I’ve shied away from those kind of posts. The posts where I expose myself. Partly because I’ve been in a good place. Depression free for almost 6 years, the longest I have ever gone. Happy with my life and who I am, for the most part at least. I’ve come to terms with my body and how I look. Made peace with the person I see in the mirror. Found confidence to be who I am, and not worry about who I should be. Partly too because I’m aware my audience has grown, and in those early days of blogging when barely anyone read my words, it was easy to put myself out there and not worry too much about many people actually reading them, and those who did were for the most friends who had an inkling anyway.

I have spent the better part of my life acting the part, pretending I am fine, when inside I am anything but. Plagued with eating disorders and depression, from my teens I perfected the art of saying “I’m fine” with great conviction – so much so that often I believed me. I spent years hating what I saw in the mirror. Detesting every single millimeter of my body. I didn’t eat for days or weeks on end, I drank far too much to block out the pain, my body is marked with scars made by my own hands. 

With three girls of my own, I’m all too aware of the importance our society places on our image. I see them and I see three beautiful girls. I see three girls who are funny, and clever, and witty, and full of life and happiness. Three girls who have the future ahead of them. Who can do anything, and be anything that they choose. By the time I was thirteen, I already felt uncomfortable in my own skin, and had done for years. I never felt good enough, or pretty enough, or clever enough, or just enough. I already wished that I was somebody else, because then maybe I would be loved.

Most days, I don’t pay too close attention to what I see in the mirror. It’s the same face I’ve been looking at for almost 35 years, the same face I’ve learnt to love {or at least not loathe}, not perfect but mine. I paint a little make-up on {goodbye eye bags} and don’t think too much about it for the rest of the day. Sunday started off that way. I woke up tired {occupationsal hazard with a baby who likes to wake up for a nightly cuddle or two, more when he’s sick}, threw on some clothes, a dash of concealer and a brush of mascara, washed and dried my fringe, and got on with my day. By the time Vega woke from his nap at 2.30pm I’d been awake for 8 hours and was a little tired myself. I was actually trying to have 10 minutes sleep to banish the headache I could feel brewing when he woke a little early. He snuggled back to sleep on me on the sofa whilst he nursed. He looked so cute and happy I figured I’d snap a quick photo or two. I took a few photos and then opened up VSCO to edit… and that’s when my day went downhill. I saw the messy hair, the tired eyes, the giant eye bags, the spotty skin and extra pounds. It didn’t help that I’d just been browsing other people’s photos on IG – other people’s highlight reel. Instantly my brain started shouting at me… shouting how horrid I looked, how much better everyone else looked than me. I felt ugly, and fat, and pretty damn shit.

It’s true I probably didn’t look my best on Sunday – the effect of two weeks of a poorly baby, sleep broken into 2 hour stretches {at the max}, too much coffee and cake to compensate for the lack of sleep, hormones that seem to be all over the place, and it being a lazy, slob out at home day. My body carries a few more pounds than I’d like. The last traces of baby weight that I can’t shift. My eyes are rimmed by dark circles, my skin is worse than when I was a teenager. Frankly, right now I don’t like what I see in the mirror. Make-up helps, but I know underneath it all I’m still there. I’m not depressed, something I’m incredibly grateful for. After numerous battles with depression, and PND too, it’s always a worry for me after a baby. But truthfully I’m happy – I love my life {just wish my days had more sleep and more hours to get everything done!}

My self-confidence is the lowest it has been in years. Spending so much time as I do online, I’m constantly bombarded with images of what society deems ‘beautiful’. I KNOW the majority are air-brushed, perfected and styled, that they are not a true reflection of how women look or should look. But when you’re tired, and feeling crappy, it’s hard not to compare yourself with those images. To compare their slim, toned body with mine, that while I know isn’t really fat, is fatter than I would like, and in dire need of some toning. To see the face I’ve stared at every day for almost 35 years and not wish I looked like somebody else.

I hate that I let something as trivial as how I look define my days and my self-worth. I’m aware that to my girls, the way I talk about/think about/treat myself is hugely influential. I don’t make comments about my body out loud, I don’t talk about not eating all the cake because I’m fat – more I need to eat less cake as it’s not very healthy. I annoyed myself allowed my self-worth to be so deflated just by my looks, that I compared myself to others.

Does it matter how I look? Really, no, but truthfully yes. We all want to look our best, but when society sets the standards so high it is hard to measure up. We are so used to seeing pictures in magazines and online that have been digitally altered that we think that is how we should look. We make these models and actresses our role models and long for their perfect skin and bodies – forgetting that they often don’t look like that in real life. We let the way we look define the way that we feel about ourselves.

I’ve realised that my biggest enemy is myself. I need to practice some self-love, to take time for myself. I need to carve out some time to work out, because I know, for me, when I exercise not only does it benefit my body but also my mind. I’ve used exercise in teh past as a way to combat depression and it really does have a massive positive effect on my mood. I also need to sort out my diet. Since the baby was born I’ve lived on cake and coffee and carbs. Things to give me energy right now, to get me through another long, packed day, after yet another sleepless night. Fourteen months of no-sleep are taking their toll right now. While cake and coffee might be a quick, easy fix, in the long run I know that a healthy diet would actually make me feel {and look} much better. More fruit and veg, less processed sugar. More water, less coffee. Adding in a vitamin to boot {I’m trying these Perfect7 vitamins}, exercise where I can, and allowing myself a nap if I’ve had a really bad night!

I’m not entirely sure if this post had a point, or really went anywhere. I know that it was good to write, I know that it may be good for someone else to read. We see ourselves so differently to how the rest of the world does. We project the best of ourselves to the outside world, so someone seeing my IG feed may see someone who is happy and comfortable in my skin, and compare themselves to me – the truth is so much more complex than that. If one person reads this and realise that we all have our insecurities, none of us have it entirely figured out and that we are so much more than how we look, then it was worth me writing this down.

If you managed to read that all the way to the end, then I’m impressed! And thank you for taking the time to read my rambling thoughts