My friend and I talked the other day about how we used to feel about our own looks. We both realised we had the same experience when looking back at old photos of ourselves.
We weren’t as fat as we thought we were. Or as ugly, or as weird or as misshapen.
I looked back at photos of me as a baby and saw that I was actually quite cute rather than the pink blob I thought I had been. I looked at me as a toddler and saw that I was chubby yes, but not hideously overweight or anything. My outfits could’ve been better but it was the early eighties so not much legroom there.
My self image got worse as I got older until my teens years where I would literally cringe and worry about how I looked on a daily basis. I look back now and see that quite frankly for much of my teens I was bloody gorgeous.
How stange to think that the enjoyment of my own youthful beauty was clouded by a myriad of self negating thoughts. Where did I pick up those thoughts? Well I was my own worst enemy that’s for sure but I also listened too hard and too long to what others said about my body and my looks.
I distinctly remember being five years old at school and a girl turning around to me in a very matter of fact way and announcing:
Oh, I had thought. Right.
I remember the sinking feeling in my stomach as I “realised” “the truth” of how “everyone” thought about me. Put briefly, that girl was a bitch.
Bitches exist, sometimes all too often in school, but those bitches although perhaps louder or more assertive than us are not necessarily right. In fact they are far from it.
I still to this day think negating thoughts about my body and my image but I try as well as I can to remember one thing.
One day I’m gong to look back and marvel at how blooming gorgeous I was.