I did something I haven’t done in a really long time the other day.
I wore shorts.
Short shorts too. Well, short shorts for me anyway, so for those playing at home? Roughly mid thigh kinda short shorts. And this is big, because I don’t do shorts. I’ve never done shorts. I hate my legs. I have mostly always hated my legs, & so even on the hottest of hot days, you will not see me in short shorts. Because that’s just where my self-esteem is at, & that’s where I imagine my self-esteem will always be at.
But y’see the thing is, it’s flipping hot. So much heat wave, so little air con. And the other thing is, I’m quite frankly sick of putting this self imposed ban on things I deem as things I’m just not allowed to wear because I go & put them into the ‘I’m too big to be able to pull those off’ category. And the other thing is, so what if I even don’t pull them off?
It’s flipping hot. And I simply can not with another pair of jeans on another high 30’s/low 40’s day. I just can not. And the funny thing is, I’m about as unhappy with my weight as I have ever been in my life at present, & yet there I was teetering off to a friend’s daughter’s second birthday in my short shorts & my ‘I don’t give a flip what anyone thinks’ attitude.
Truth is though, I gave every kind of flip. I felt embarrassed walking in. I felt apologetic. Like, … I’d have loved to have just issued the disclaimer something along the lines of, ‘look, you know, & I know that I am not pulling off these short shorts. But it’s hot. So cut a pasty skinned, dimply thigh’d girl some slack. Yea?’. And hey, then we could all move on from the fact that I was a pasty skinned, dimply thigh’d girl wearing short shorts on a hot day. And not pulling them off. But not giving a flip about that fact either?
The thing is, I keep waiting to be a better looking version of me to do the things I want to do, & wear the things I want to wear that I convince myself I can’t wear because I quite simply don’t have the figure for it. Stupid things, really stupid things like always sitting on the sidelines at Max’s swimming lessons while Dave gets to go in with him. Why? Because I do my typical ‘oh … I can’t afford to pay for everyone’s psychology sessions post seeing me in swimmers’ bullsh*t style of humour thing, & guess what?
It’s not funny any more.
Actually, it’s growing less & less funny. No actually, it’s beginning to become completely unacceptable that I’ll continuously hide behind my naturally self-deprecating style of humour when it comes to explaining why I feel I don’t deserve to wear bathers to my son’s swimming lessons, or short shorts on a flippin’ hot day.
Look, the truth is, I’m never going to be the ‘hot Mum’, I’m not even genetically predisposed to ‘hotness’. But, … I’m not a pig either. And I should be able to wear bathers to my children’s swimming lessons if I want to, or shorts on a hot day. And the only person stopping me from even doing any of that, is … me?!
It’s got to stop.
I have children to raise.
Happy memories to foster.
Self-esteem within my own children that needs to be developed.
And that’s not going to happen if I keep waiting to be better looking before I wear bathers, or shorts, or whatever the flip I want to really?! So, I have the Pearl Jam concert coming up soon, … I’m going to wear shorts to it. And Max’s swimming lessons kick off again soon, … I’m going to get in the water with him, … in bathers no less.
I turn 31 in a few weeks. The self loathing just kinda needs to end. I can’t even remember when it began, or why? But … it just feels like it’s been too long. And y’know look, let’s be realistic, I doubt I’ll ever reach a point where there’s any element of self-love, but hey, I’d just be grateful if I can squeeze my pot belly & my dimply thighs into some bathers, & not feel guilty about who has to be subjected to the view at our local pool.