This is a post all about me and it’s filled with photos of me and I’m going to be talking about me and pretty much only me. Feel free to move on if this doesn’t interest you. And let’s be honest – it probably only interests me.
I’ve never been happy with the way I look. Ever. I hated my fat arms and thighs when I was around 8. I hated the shape my legs made when I sat on a chair and I tried to not rest all my weight down so it appeared (probably only to me) that I was thinner. I’m the short one on the left –
In high school, I spent hours not eating and then hours puking if I did eat. I spent hours thinking about which foods had the most fat grams and how many pieces of popcorn I could eat and not reach 100 calories. Hours spent self-harming if I failed and went over. I was the fattest person in the universe. Here is what I looked like –
When I got pregnant at 17, I gained weight like crazy. Crazy! Like, 50 pounds in the last 3 months. After I had Devon, I looked like this and as you can tell by my bershon face, I thought my life was pretty much over.
After my four kids were born, I lost some weight. From the waist up. I tried to make sure that all photos of me were of my shoulders and above because I was a HIDEOUS size 16. Too large to fit most clothes in the department store. It really was the end of my life.
And now? My thinking hasn’t changed. I’m the hugest. Ever. Than anyone in the entire world. I have fat arms and neck rings. Tree trunk legs and squishy belly. I’ve spent too many days trying to figure out how to look smaller, prettier, firmer in photos to represent myself to the world as a different person. I was only fooling myself. As if this carefully crafted shot done in my own studio represents the real me. Still employing the shoulders and up rule, many of the photos I take of myself are fuzzed to oblivion because OH NO my skin has dark spots everywhere. And freckles. I love how this photo from a few years ago has the same bershon face as above. Trying to hide by chopping off the rest of my body.
So, ready? This is what I look like, me. Look at it. Why can’t you look at it and see how great the family looks together? Do you have to pick yourself apart, me?
Still looking, me? Good. When I drink, I look like this –
and this –
Here I am double fisting –
, originally uploaded by LeahK.
And you know what? That is fine, me. It’s ok to look happy about wine if you want to.
Here I am in the morning, hungover.
And another hungover morning, also just fine. I don’t have to look sprightly in all photos, right me?
This is me when my vest is too tight standing in front of a room of people. Yes, it doesn’t look as good as I thought it did when I left the house that night. That’s alright. Everyone makes clothing mistakes sometimes, me. Try to do it without hating yourself.
I look like this in a cowboy hat, all squared face. And yes, I was attempting to look cool.
Sometimes, me, I take horrible photos which accentuate my chipmunk cheeks, neck rolls and jowls while standing next to really cute people. This is fine.
When I’m leading a craft panel, and someone takes a photo of me from a lower angle, my legs look enormous and look at those dimpled elbows. My, my. Me, I can see you wanting to crawl under the table. Don’t do it. We’ll get through this.
And when shooting photos with my friends, I will quite possibly always be the Giantess in the group –
Pretty much, I’ve spent my entire life hating the way I look. And I’m tired of it. I want to love myself just the way I am, large or not, with neck rolls, size 26 pants and boobs too large to do anything with. I want to look in the mirror and not worry that those people around me are looking at me in disgust and revulsion. Or disappointment. Are you on board, me?
I want to love me with a receding hairline and skin blotches
and chubby hands and fingers
trying my darnedest to look good using the Myspace angles and liberal amounts of lip gloss
sitting a little too snugly in the chair doing interviews
letting it all hang out with friends
and looking insane due to accidental oversmile.
All of it. All of me, me. Got it? I don’t look perfect. I will never be able to compete with porn stars. I might lose weight and I might not be able to. I know it’s hard with the medication for my mental health, me, but I can feel good for trying, right? In any case, let’s do one thing right and love us.