Add dancing, parenting and being sociable into the mix [when you wish you could sneak forty winks] an early start for Sunday, and now, on Monday morning, my poor body is screaming for recovery.
I look awful. So bad – although my nails are still pretty – but let’s face it, by the end of today I’m not going to look any different – and on the school run I’ll appear to have been pulled through a hedge backwards, but I’m pretty comfortable with that. Better that than the other option….the compliment.
Compliments. Not on my work, but my appearance.
Here’s what happens…
Kind person: I love your dress, it’s gorgeous on you.
Me: Ahhh, I’m only wearing it because my jeans are filthy/it’s only cheap/I’m holding my breath in.
Poor Husband: You look lovely. Me: Are you sure? Do I look alright? I’m still huge. Do you love me? Am I too fat? Do I look fat? Do I look awful? *Cue breakdown, tears and husband wishing he’d kept quiet*.
I’ve worked off 2 stone in weight since March [although there has been a reversal of this over the past month as I’ve been unable to make it to my Slimming World meetings and have comforted myself with chocolate biscuits] but I know I look better than I have done since Hero was born. So I should feel good.
Should. But it’s hard. What if feeling good about myself means I’m a narcissistic, egotistical person? What if people laugh at me, for feeling happy with my looks?
Essentially, because we’re sadly a superficial species – and as my husband will tell me, that’s how it’s always been since the dawn of time. We look for attractive traits in people that we’re surrounded with. And as a person that cares very little for the way other people see him, I wish I was more like him.
However, whilst I do cringe if anyone compliments me [unless it’s my husband – then I just plain try to convince him he’s wrong] I do wish I had the time to take care of myself more often, to feel good about myself, which means trying to look unlike I’ve been wrestling with a bear and wearing something I feel happy in. This afternoon, my mom volunteered [read: was handed camera and forced] to take photos of just me and my husband, in a gorgeous new dress I have from ASDA, to see if I could feel good and believe in compliments.
I uploaded the photos to photoshop – and left me as I am. No shrinking. No reshaping. Just me.