In my early teens , I remember possessing an intense hatred for my body. Why were my boobs growing with such a quickness? And if only I could snap my fingers and my thighs would be half their size. Being constantly compared with a cousin who was lighter in complexion, and had the soft, loosely curled afro didn't help either. (Yeah, remember those days when the lighter shade of black and the 'non-afro' afro hair were the only pre-requisites to being considered pretty?)
I guess the contemptuous way in which I viewed myself only started to change at around the age of 18. Coincidentally, that was around the time I met my first proper boyfriend. And I can say that as I'm approaching mid 20s, I do still have a few hang-ups (I mean, who doesn't?) but all in all, I'm happy with myself, and have learn't to appreciate what I have.
So, what got me thinking about this issue? Well, it all stemmed from a conversation I had with a colleague about a week ago. She's a big girl, who seemingly always dragged a truck load of confidence everywhere with her. A talk over lunch however revealed that she wasn't too thrilled with her shape or size. And that any comment made about her body would leave her wound up tight. Really sister? Even you?
I guess the lesson to learn here is that even a Beyoncé look alike could think of something if she were asked what she would like to change about herself. It seems perfection can only be achieved in recognising that we will never be perfect.
Have a lovely week ladies and remember to embrace that jiggly belly, and those fat knees!
Amusez Vous Bien.
Madeline
xx
