I don't love my body but I work hard - I go to gym, do yoga and walk. I used to run, which I miss because it is good for my emotional health (and it has a positive effect on my arse).
This morning I got out of the shower and could not decide what to wear; a common occurrence on a work day. I lay on my bed, nekkid, trying to decide what to don for the day and I was reminded of something I saw recently. It was a gorgeous piece about a girl accepting her body for what it is, imperfections and all. No one has a perfect body. No one.
Every child has fallen over and scraped their knee or sliced themself open. We are all scarred. Skin is a living, breathing organ - it discolours; it stretches and shrinks; eventually it sags. No one is perfect. We all have hair in places we may or may not want it to be. And our hair will go grey or fall out or both. We are, all of us, imperfect.
I have been working hard to accept my imperfections. Not only the superficial ones - the stretch marks, the hair, the cellulite, the chub, the wrinkles, the dimples and the scars - but also the fundamental ones - the insecurities, the low self esteem. The list goes on.
As I lay on my bed, I thought about my imperfections. What I noticed, however were the muscles on my stomach, the curve of my hip and the lines of my legs. I may not be perfect but, for a chick with two kids nearing forty, I am doing okay.
Fuck the naysayers! They shall have no part in my life.
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