Gone girl 

Haters will say it’s not the same girlHer tattoo doesn’t match up

She’s got a different iPhone 

Her hair is different

Bla bla bla…

And they’re right, all those things are different. 

But they’re also right, it’s not the same girl.

And its not because in 4 years she had two pregnancies and two children, and she got a new iPhone. 

It’s because they are two different people. 

It’s because the girl before was miserable. She was hungry. She was proud of herself when she didn’t eat until she was full because that’s what they tell you to do.

She was told she looked good in skinny jeans and no one told her she didn’t fit into their brands. She was never discriminated against.

She acted like she wasn’t embarrassed to eat a burger because people would know and think that surely she eats so healthy the other time. 

They assumed her size equated to healthy. 

They didn’t know that she starved herself all day and into the next to eat that burger. 

No one knew that her day was spent constantly worrying about gaining weight, that she would even dream about it. Really, dream about eating, and waking up worried. Every. Night.
Yes that girl is gone. 

Gone with her old hair

Gone with the way her old tattoo looked

Gone with a new phone (but I still have that phone cover somewhere, it was a gift from hubby)

Gone with the horrible expectations she herself placed on her

Gone with her old body, because after two children and no more excessive dieting she changed. 

This girl changed

I changed.

I changed because I realised when I looked into my children’s eyes I never wanted to fail them, I never wanted for them to not feel loved

But how could I love them when I didn’t love myself?

How could I let them see me on the scales day after day?

How could I let them see me not eat?

How could I let them know that I woke in the middle of the night with anxiety that I ate too many calories in one day?

How could I tell them to love their body if I didn’t love mine?

I realised because I was tired of being embarrassed to eat what I wanted, and I ate a burger.

I no longer wanted to wake up in the middle of the night worried about what I had eaten or dreamt I ate.

I no longer wanted the expectation of losing the baby weight and the old “it’s been a year now”

I no longer wanted to worry that anti-depressants would make me fat and sit there and have anxiety attacks and think “well, at least I’m not putting on weight”

I didn’t want to have my bones sticking out to determine my self worth and be miserable 
I realised all this because I nearly fell back into it, truthfully, I nearly thought that I had to become thin quick and fit into social media, into this world of instagram and Facebook, in a world of shakes, tea and diet pills. I nearly doubted myself based on my weight, and then my son asked if he could stand on the scales after me. He watched me as he always does and said “my turn” like it was fun after watching me do it so many times. 
I don’t hate you old girl. I don’t. I don’t hate the person I was. Because I didn’t know then that I deserved love. I thought that if I looked a certain way I would be a better person. 

I didn’t realise that what I weigh doesn’t define if I’m a decent human or not. Not now, not ever. 
But I realised I don’t want to be you, old girl, ever again. There’s nothing wrong with the way you look, but there is sure as hell nothing wrong with the way I look now… and if I stop worrying about how thin I could be, I can start being healthy. I realise that now.
And I realised now more than ever when I saw that little boy step on the scale. 

He deserves love. He deserves never to think that his weight defines if he’s a good enough person.

That little boy and his little sister, shouldn’t live in a world where they have to be embarrassed to eat because people will assume they know if they’re healthy or not. 

They shouldn’t live in a world where brands discriminate against them. Whether they are too skinny, too big, too muscle or not muscly enough. 

That little boy should live his life and learn that food is there to nourish him and help him grow and that food is NOT his enemy. 

That what matters is what’s inside his head and what’s inside his heart and REAL GOOD people will care about that more than the size of his jeans.
And that his body is not his enemy
And that his mother’s body isn’t her enemy 

And that’s what I’m going to teach him. 

It doesn’t matter, left to right, or right to left. Whatever your journey is. What matters is you. Don’t let anyone bully you into any picture. It matters that you don’t feel guilty about looking either way, that you don’t starve yourself and you eat because food is fucking amazing and is life and that it’s there to keep you alive! That people don’t bully you to “eat a damn burger” if you are just naturally thin. That If you’re a size 2 or a size 20, it’s no ones business but your own. And it’s up to no one else which you chose to be, BUT YOUR OWN. 

Left or right is me. One has grown and one has lived. I don’t care which side anyone prefers because I’m the same crazy bitch I’ll always be, and I LOVE HER! isn’t that enough? It is enough for me.  

You don’t need anyone’s permission to love yourself. Don’t wait for a ‘moment’ to learn love yourself, do it now. Life is so short, don’t waste it hating yourself, the world will do that for you. 

don’t worry about the haters, they will pretend they are health experts, but if they really cared they’d worry about your mental health too, and that is just as important. Happiness is everything, your jean size isn’t.  

If I got hit by a bus tomorrow I would never want my tombstone to read “didn’t starve herself to please other people on the internet because she had cellulite” I’d want it to say “she didn’t die with any regrets, she lived with all she had and she loved with all her heart”

And she threw those damn fucking scales out. ✌?️??

One Comment

  1. This was such a satisfying post to read. It’s amazing how much we hate our bodies until we are suddenly in a much-different looking body. I looked at old photos of myself and nearly cried when I realized there was NOTHING WRONG with me and I found something wrong with myself. Every. single. day. And the obsession with “post-baby bodies” and “snapbacks” is only making women’s self-image that much worse. I guess what I’m saying is: the decision to love every part of you, every day is a difficult journey but it is soooooo worth it. Plus, your kids will thank you for it later. After all…they are half of you. 🙂

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