Chasing Victoria And Her Secret

When I was in sixth grade I really started to notice boys. I'd like to say that it was around then that the boys started noticing me but that would be a lie. Creepy old men wearing scrubs at the Boardwalk "noticed" me (i.e. followed me around and hoped to catch me alone - thank God for vigilant parents) but I'm pretty sure that to the boys my age I was invisible. Case in point: one sunny afternoon during recess, after having confessed my love for Timothy to my group of friends, several of them decided it would be a good idea to go interrupt his game of flag football to tell him I liked him and to see if he liked me in return. I stood, utterly embarrassed but oh so curious, and waited for his response. My friends came running back to me moments later and a girl who I later found out wasn't really my friend, gleefully informed me that he thought I was "a dog." Not wanting to look like a total loser in front of my friends, I sucked it up and said something to the effect of "whatever, I didn't really like him anyway." Way to save face.

As much as I hate to say it, this was one of many defining moments in my life. A little bit of my innocence melted away in that moment. You know, the part of you that was blissfully unaware that you aren't actually perfect like your parents (if they were good ones) told you. Not only did this boy reject me, he attacked my appearance, most likely in an effort to look cool in front of his friends. From that point on my eye became more and more critical. It wasn't until I was fifteen that I started to think that maybe this boy (and few jerks after him) might be wrong. Interestingly my change of attitude had to do with another boy. (Possibly a completely separate post on why boys have so much influence over us and how to make sure my son doesn't abuse that power). He was an older boy. My brother's best friend to be more exact. It was all very innocent, in fact I'm betting he has no idea the impact this moment had on me. We were standing in my kitchen where someone had posted an ad for an open casting call for models and actors on the refrigerator. He looked at it and said, "Are you going to do this?" I told him I probably wasn't. Then he flashed his smile at me (that kind of Johnny Depp, makes every woman melt smile) and told me I should do it. That was it. He, in a roundabout way, told me I was pretty and I'm sorry but if Johnny Depp told you you were pretty there's no way that wouldn't make your fifteen-year-old self feel beyond good.

I would love to say that from there on out my confidence was sky high and I never had a moment of insecurity after but again, that would be a lie. I live in a culture of self-loathing, especially for women. No matter what we do we aren't tall enough, thin enough, curvy enough, straight enough, blonde enough, perky enough. We're just not enough. Fortunately, due to a lot of great people around me I've been able to experience great moments of self-confidence. People who not only think I'm beautiful but also find value in me beyond my looks, imagine that! Every now and then, however, that moment of self-doubt creeps back in. "Am I pretty? Do I look fat? Am I in fact a dog??"

As a new mom I've been struggling more and more with my overall appearance. Things just aren't looking the way I want them to. My husband tells me I am beautiful. My son clearly adores me. But when I look in the mirror all I see are the bags under my eyes, the chubby tummy that won't go away, the thighs that now touch, the hips that go on forever, and the slightly saggy boobs. Not to mention the bad skin, the crooked teeth, should I go on? Where does all this self-loathing come from? I blame her:



and her:



and all of them:



(I'm kidding - sort of)

I also blame my own inability to control negative thinking. Most days I am too tired to really care what I look like, but sometimes I long to be one of those girls. You know the ones? Think little stick-like thighs, perky butts and breasts, perfectly straight white teeth, no hips, perfect skin. Or at the very least I want this:



Yes, that's me... a pre-baby, heavily made up, very photoshopped, glittery version anyway.

But most days this is what I see instead:



*In case you don't see what I do (because you're not warped)... note the quadruple chin, the bags and circles under my eyes (double score!), the excessively gummy smile and the crooked teeth. Oh and my nose. I'm not a fan.

See what I mean about negative thinking? It's out of control. When will I (and probably most of the women I know) put an end to the body/appearance bashing? When will I be able to look at that picture and see one happy mama and her adorable baby? When will I be good enough for me? When will you be good enough for you? When will I stop chasing the fantasy version of myself and realize I'm perfectly imperfect the way I am?



**I should note that a lot of this post was inspired by the look Husband gave me when I gave my critique of the the second picture of myself. As I wrapped up with some sort of ridiculous statement about how I looked like a hideous monster (yes, sometimes I'm crazy) he just looked at me like I had lost my marbles, laughed and told me I was beautiful and them seamlessly went back to feeding our baby. I hope some day I will always see what he sees.

***Also, I am in no way fishing for compliments here. I know you all love me (those of you that I actually know) and think I'm pretty. I do too, most days. :) I'm just hoping for a time when I think that every day.