Why is my internal dialogue so awful. If I heard someone I love, my sister, friend or daughter for that matter, say some of the things that I say to myself...about themselves...I would be so disappointed and so sad for them. Why would I then allow myself to say it about myself to myself?
Pretty… Ugly…. Perspective is everything.
We say some pretty terrible things to ourselves don’t we. I know I have. Although I have maybe presented myself as confident when I pop on a pair of heels, I still take way too long to get ready and try on far too many different options. I am not saying that I don’t in some way enjoy getting ready, popping on some heels and getting all dolled up. Unfortunately though, I know that I have suffered from some pretty mean girl dialogue with myself. I would never say some of the awful things I say to myself to anyone. Why the hell, would I allow myself to say it to… myself? As I sit and write this… I am getting angry. Why the hell am I such a d*ck to myself. I have stared for far too long at my cellulite on my legs and can almost watch them expand literally while I sit and berate myself. I have looked far too closely at my laugh lines, that are almost not even existent, and forgotten why they are there in the first place, because I was happy!
Yes, aging sucks. But it is also liberating. I look back at pictures of my wedding or back in college. I was um… not so bad off. I persistently thought I wasn’t in-shape, but I was actually in really great shape. I had a great figure but at the time didn’t even realize it. My internal dialogue was so poor I would honestly think my size 4, although small and cute on anyone else but on me… my size four wasn’t the same. Because clearly my size 4 didn’t look the same on me for some non-logical reason.
Similarly, I like to sing. And I’m actually pretty good at it. Maybe not rock star good but good, nonetheless. I always got the worst stage freight. I’m talking shaking, ready to throw up, stage freight. I was told numerous times that I had an amazing voice, yet I told myself they must have all been lying to me because there is no way I could sound that good. Do you know how many missed opportunities I have had because I allowed myself to believe my lies and not listen to the ones who loved me. It literally all came down to my lack of self-confidence in myself, in all ways. I only focused on what I knew I was good at which was dancing, bartending, partying, and school. I never fully applied myself to singing, and I regret that now.
Now, I am 15 years older, and yes, thankfully, wiser. The last few years I have been through some pretty tough stuff health wise and I have been slowly gaining weight in the process. It has been a perpetual daily battle with the scale moving up 3… down 2… up 3… down 2. In fact, in February, I was put on a medication to help with my lymes and I ended up in the hospital for a few days. Well, the aftermath of that caused my Thyroid medication to go all out of whack, and in one month…. Yes, one single month I gained 20 pounds, 20 friggin pounds. That’s over a half a pound a day. Kind of screwed me up, physically, mentally, emotionally, etc. I am just now starting to stabilize and starting to work my way back, almost three months later. But guess what, for starters I am blessed that when I do gain, I gain proportionately. I just get big all over and I will be thankful for that one for sure. But I also, honestly, feel better about myself in my pretty thick size 8 than I did in my baggy size 4’s.
Why, because I realize now that the words I tell myself, matter; that there is no such thing as f*cking perfect; and that the constant goal of perfection is not only exhausting but it requires you to downplay your strengths rather than celebrate them. If I focus on all that I don’t love about myself I lose sight of what makes me stand out and what features are perfect. My friend has an Irish tattoo that says “Perfectly Flawed” (totally going to write a post to this one on its own but for now…). Isn’t it true though? We are ALL flawed and yet ALL perfect in our own ways.
In my late 30’s I would rather live my life with joy and not hyper focus on my cellulite. I would rather look at my kids and laugh and play and flirt with my husband than constantly try to cover up my body when my daughter squeezes my tummy or my hubby grabs my bum and it shakes a little extra. I want to LIVE. I don’t want to only live inside my head. And if I am going to live partially in my head, I better damn well make sure the things I am telling myself are then ones I want my daughter to repeat to herself when she is 20. After all, she learns from me and I want so much more for her than what I limited for myself.
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