Ever since I started buying my own clothes at 13-14 years old I have always struggled to find clothes that fit me just right or to be happy with the way I look. Some of that I will admit is my fault. I refuse to try clothes on. Making sure they fit me just right. Unless I do the standard slip a jumper/jacket on whilst stood in the shop. That I will do, but Jeans are my ultimate nemesis. I usually end up with something that is far too big at the waist or so tight I loose circulation to my calves. I buy jumpers that are baggy to hide any form of a stomach that I may have.
I’m not rich, I rarely invest in a pair of jeans Over £20 as much as I detest the shop I will usually just buy Primark jeans. they are cheap and
cheerful, They are just cheap and since becoming a mum my body confidence has plummeted. I dont feel my body deserves a decent pair of jeans that probably would fit better. I had one pair of maternity jeans that in all honesty, I adored. I would still where them now if I could get away with it.
I gained a lot of weight through my pregnancy, I totally invested in the eating for two saying, and that was my fault. However, although it was stress induced, I was lucky enough to loose all the weight and more once the terror was born but this didn’t change my body confidence. If anything it has got worse. I will spend so much time looking in the mirror at the parts of my body that I hate. Picking fault. I wake up every morning and the first thing I do is stand on the scales. I hate myself if I have gained so much as a lb. I will pick fault at the fact my body stretched, grew and carried a beautiful child and in turn gave me stretch marks that compare to a bear mauling. I fret over the fact that some days I cant touch my little finger and thumb together around my wrist. I hate the fact that now I have lost the baby weight I am left with a stomach that resembles a wrinkled kangaroo’s pouch.
As awful as it is to say it, as a teenager I was the girl that would pick fault in others and the way they looked in an attempt to feel better in myself. I would never share those thoughts. They would be for me and yet It never made me feel better. It made me feel worse Because I still wasn’t happy. As a mother now, I hate to think those thoughts and I would hate for people to think that of me or my child as they grow. But it crosses my mind that If I think these things, surely others do to?
I have tried so hard to be accepting of the fact that actually my body is strong, It birthed a baby. It has got me through my 23 years so far, pretty much trouble free, besides the Angry Peach . And it is really difficult. I think it is such a difficult subject to touch upon because as women and human beings in general we need to be supportive of others. I terrify myself at passing my body issues on to my child or future children. I would hate to think that my son gets up in the morning and weighs himself in fear that he has gained a pound or two over night. Their are so many men and women out their fighting for us all to be accepted what ever shape or size we are. And I feel like I am totally and utterly letting them down. But I have been adamant that I can not change my thought process. This is how I feel about myself and this isn’t going to change.
Then it suddenly hit me.
And that is the main reason for this post is. This morning Lincoln came in to me with that beautiful smile, we both got out of bed and the first thing before I go downstairs as I said before is go in and weigh myself. This morning was different, Lincoln got their first. He was stood on the scales looking up at me giggling. It was meaningless, He didn’t know what he was doing. Yet.
That’s when I realized that actually I have to change, not just my routine. My opinions on myself. The way I treat my body and my self are slowly being imprinted on him. He is 2, he shouldn’t being copying me standing on the scales each morning. He should be thinking about what mayhem he is going to cause that day or what breakfast he is going to cover himself in.
Our children need to be full of positive thoughts on their bodies, the way they look and on others. They need to see us, respecting our bodies. Taking care of ourselves not punishing ourselves because we don’t look like ‘the girl next door’ or ‘Britain’s next top model’. But to start that cycle of passing on positivity and teaching our children to feel good about themselves. Showing them just how beautiful they are inside and out. We need to practice what we preach. I need to listen to Tom when he tells me I’m Beautiful. I need to throw those scales out. As long as I am healthy and happy that is what really matters.
At Lincolns age children are like sponges. They absorb everything we do and say. So many times I’ve had to stop myself from swearing on the odd occasion that a f*ck does fly out of my mouth he has been so close to repeating it. And as much as I appreciate a good cursing. It’s not for kids and neither is this body negativity.
I can only hope that I can change my attitude towards myself for the better and show Lincoln what it is to love your self and be kind to yourself as well as other people.