|Sunrise at my beach – Ocean City, MD|
Let me tell you something – this blogging community is the best therapy I have ever had (it’s cheap too – but if I had too – I would totally pay for it).
After my post yesterday, I received some wonderful comments from wonderful people that made me feel…well…wonderful!
Today I put on something that makes me feel young, hip and cute and includes a bit of bling. I called my hairdresser (can’t get in till Saturday…ugh!) and paid special attention to my makeup. Add to that a good night’s sleep and two successful events last night and I am in a much better place today.
And it doesn’t hurt that Elmo left me a lovely comment as well…I love you too honey.
To some of my other cheering section I’d like to reassure you that I’m taking all of your comments and suggestions to heart. I KNOW all these things but sometimes they leave my head and it takes some reminding to get me back to a place of sanity. Thank you.
It’s so true that we, as women, are made to feel horrible about our bodies. When I was looking for a picture to add to my post yesterday and I Googled “insecurities”, the pictures that popped up were hideous and very, very, sad. Try it – it’s a real eye opener. It almost made me delete the entire post and start over.
I try never to make negative comments about my body in front of my children or grandchildren. I don’t want them to ever think that what you look like on the outside really matters. They get enough of that on TV and in media so it’s my job as their parent to give them a more accurate picture of what real women look like and how real women should behave. My daughter got the message and has passed in on to her daughters which makes me very happy. Her girls are athletic and more concerned about fitness than anything else.
Of course they are not fools. They have peers who have not been brought up like this and they watch TV and they read magazines. But their mom and dad rock so I know they’ll be okay.
But secretly, in my own mirror, I can beat myself black and blue sometimes. I do, occasionally, have days that I look at my naked body and am very appreciative of what it has done for me. It gave birth to three healthy babies. It’s carried me through a multitude of trials and abuse and remains relatively healthy. It gives great hugs and cleans up pretty good.
But on days like yesterday, when I’m feeling old and tired and out of touch and overweight and used and abused, I find myself sitting squarely on my pity pot and it’s a while before I budge. (We don’t use the “f” word in my house. I’ll say fuck at the drop of a hat but I don’t say fat. My kids aren’t allowed to use it either…of course they aren’t allowed to say fuck either and I try not to say it front of them…but I digress.)
So thank you to all my commenters yesterday who drug my sorry ass off that pity pot and brought me squarely back to a more positive place. This is a much better neighborhood.