Body matters

I don't think I know a single person who doesn't have some issue with how they look. From "too fat" to "too skinny", bulges in the wrong places, some things too small, some things too large, too hairy or not hairy enough, too tall, too short.... seems us humans can never really be satisfied. We certainly try though - just count how many image-adjusting place of business your neighbourhood sports - salons, hairdressers, gyms...

Having recently dropped a few sizes, I'm certainly liking what's in the mirror more than I was 3 months ago. Definitely happier with the shape I'm in (getting there at least). I think I'm at that age where I'm comfortable in my skin too. I know what wobbles and what doesn't, I've made peace with the fact that I'll never be anything other than me, and now I'm starting to enjoy who I am.

And yet...

Every now and then media makes it hard to be content. Look at enough nubile young types and you start realizing you may just fall under the "mature" category these days. Where they're perky, you're soft and rounded. Where they're firm, you're not so much. Where they have perfect skin, yours is getting wrinkles around the eyes when you smile - and there's a scattering of greys among the blondes. It's enough to make you want to wear bloomers to the beach and never allow more than a hint of skin to show. To anyone. Ever. Leave the dramatic removal of clothing items to the younger generation, and hide instead with bed covers up to your chin! :-) (of course, personality never seems to feature in these comparisons, does it!)

And yet... (again)

As woman, no longer little girl, no longer teen nor 20-something, I'm learning to embrace who I am now. To relish the fact that I know my rhythms, my facets, my mind. No longer flighty or unsure of myself (well, usually). I've come to the conclusion that being authentically Me is more important than being a perfect 10. Yes, I enjoy looking good - but I'm trying not to stress over the effects of maturing, nor the things I have little control over (like genetics).

There are times where I wonder how others see me, if I could ever measure up to those gorgeous things flaunting their assets. I admit it - sometimes I don't think I can compare, and should simply give up hoping I'll be good enough, attractive enough (clothed or unclothed). But I don't. Or I try not to too often.

It's a journey, this body image thing. Not always easy, but hey - this is me. Short of a lotto-winning's worth of surgery and some artificial boobs, take it or leave it.