I think it’s time to stop thinking of myself as ugly.
I have an actual phobia of seeing pictures of myself, because I can usually spot 18 different flaws within 5 seconds. I hate the way I look. The only reason I haven’t taken drastic measures to change my physical appearance is due to financial constraints. If I had the funds, first thing done would be getting my teeth fixed and whitened. Next would probably be the boobs – 2 pregnancies have left a pair of deflated balloons in place of my once perky assets. Next I’d consider a chin tuck and eye lift. Jesus, I sound like I’m 50. It’s pathetic – I’m 31 and I look 40 something.
I’ve never been one of those women who can throw on “any old thing”, do a light brushing of makeup, tousle my hair and be on my way. Getting ready for me is reaching into the double digit numbers – make sure I can wear a bra (no strapless or spaghetti straps) to keep the girls in place. Can’t wear anything too tight for fear of muffin top (ok, CAKE top). Actually, xnay the tanks because of my fat arms. Shorts – HAHAHAHA, that’s funny. No one wants to see that. I wear JEANS to the BEACH. Make sure to keep my hair down so it covers part of my face so I don’t scare small children. Have to put on concealer to hide the dark circles and bags under my eyes, even though it doesn’t really work. Add eyeliner so I don’t look sick. Lipstick to make my teeth look brighter and not so dull. And I’m not even good at makeup application.
How does this tie into my recent loss? Well, it's all about self-esteem. And I have NONE. For a long time, although I felt my daughter didn't deserve this, I did. I actually believe(d) that I have nothing positive to offer anyone, physically, emotionally, mentally, etc. That my misfortune was the result of past sins, all mine, and my unhappiness is/was all my own doing. There's a lot of background I won't get into, but I was conditioned to think this way from a young age. That nothing bad just happens to people, there is a cosmic balance that dictates fate and consequences. Even though my brain is screaming at me that it's not true - look at the people who suck and seemingly "have it all" - I've never been able to shake the belief that it's true in my case. Like I'm special or something - the universe isn't keeping tabs on anyone but me, and only in the negative. All my positives are wiped clear each time I screw up. I feel the same about my progress in healing and recovering - doesn't matter if I have 5 fantastic, productive days in a row - a bad 15 minutes will set me right back to zero or negative. Sisyphus would feel relieved upon gazing at the size of my boulder.
And now I'm in a wedding. I've been working out and trying to look better (I can't say good, because "better" is all I really have to aim for) and it's not working. I can't see any results. Wish I had a shawl to hide my fat arms in this halter-top dress. Oh, great, I get to wear heels in front of a crowd, and bare my legs. You've seen the hippos in Fantasia, right? Fantastic. And with the awesome, non-judgmental media perception that mothers should lost their baby weight by the time they leave the frickin hospital, I have a lot of pressure on me.
I think because Coraline is gone, people forget that I'm still post-partum. I went through 8 months of pregnancy, then labor and birth, then having my milk come in and dry up within a week. Weeks of healing and pain and trauma and anguish - having a body I didn't recognize anymore. New stretch marks, and no baby to hold.
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