No matter who you are and where you live now, those questions will run through your mind at times.
What’s make me beautiful? What happens when I look at myself in the mirror? My brain scrambles with what I look and what I think I look. I admit when I see myself in a photograph it opens a can of worms. I am no 5’8 and skinny kind of girl. I am more the compact style, 5’2 and no Twiggy. Skinny jeans do come in my size, but when they stop at my calf and don’t go higher, I decide it’s enough.
As women, we all have parts of our body we like and parts we don’t. A Hate/Love relationship dancing a complicated tango, we are not even sure we can follow.
I am self-confident about 80% of the time. But I flirt with perfection. Perfection is a fleeting notion when aging, bound to change and morph along the way.
The ideal woman’s body has fluctuated through centuries, alternating from voluptuous busty bodies to stick-thin. In recent decades, these 2 models have merged into a synthesis of what society presents us with: an unhealthy bony frame, a hanger for designers’ clothes.
I cannot identify with any of that. Hell no!
I just want to be me, but overall, I want to be happy with myself and my image.
Today, I didn’t play the battle of skinny jeans. I decide to be me as fit as I let myself be: Yoga pants or dresses reveal my curves. I am 58 years old, healthy and my body has its scars and medals of honor
Honestly, I do have those days of doubts when I ask myself: am I still sexy? when it should be: do I still feel attractive?
And yes, I do. Because I am more, way more than an image.
So, here I win my battle against the skinny jeans.