This is a Self Image?

Here it is, a weekend again. I don’t have to be in to work at the absolute CRACK of DAWN. I can lollygag for at least an extra twenty minutes or so. Oh, the luxuriousness of it all.

Something I said struck me as odd earlier, while my husband and I were talking about the day’s plans.

Now as a side note: I’m not fishing for compliments here. I’m aware that people who are fishing for compliments often SAY this very thing just before they bait the hook and throw in the line. THIS is not the case. Just an internal observation. (You can send boxes of chocolates and roses at an address I will disclose to you at a later date.)

Ahem.
So we’re standing there, discussing the reason why I’m going to have to go in later than I had first anticipated, (so the extra twenty minutes becomes forty. Pinch me quick.) so that he can reprimand a worker of his who just might become hostile. You see, he was taking our son in with him, but decided just this morning that perhaps ‘D’ wouldn’t want to be in the middle of a bunch of throw-down redneck ruckus. I agreed, and so will wait for the signal of ‘All Clear’ (which may sound something like ‘The Bitch is Gone’) before bringing him in to help clean up the debris. (Only kidding, he plays his Nintendo DS and reads the whole time.)

I informed my husband that, while I agreed with this arrangement, I might catch a little flack for it as I’ve been positioned at the front end of our store in order to make us appear to have enough people to cover the early morning shifts, even though we, in fact, do not.

My husband said, “So you’re the cover-up girl.” And then I said, “Yeah, like the Cover Girl…only not pretty,” at which time he wrapped me up in his arms and told me how wrong I was, etc. But in my head, I’m thinking, ‘Do I really think that about myself?’

I was looking over old pictures of myself the other day, when I was a teenager and just did NOT like much about my appearance. From a thirty-something’s perspective, I look at those photos and despise the circumstances in my life that made me feel that way about myself. (It was more than just the usual teenager angst over a pimple here and there…)

Because, quite frankly, I was beautiful back then. Long, blonde hair; large, almond shaped eyes; good nose, decent skin, lumps in all the right places, strong as an ox… I could be biased now, I don’t know. Do you begin to look at your younger self like one of your children when you get a bit older?

Anyway, as you can clearly see where this is going—I’ve gained some weight over the years. I’ve been battling it off and on recently, and most recently more off than on, simply because my physical appearance gets lost in the shuffle of day to day living.

I get the clothes on that cover the inappropriate bulges, and with makeup and freshly washed hair, I’m definitely acceptable. But somehow it has begun to sink into my own mind that I am no longer ‘pretty’.

At first I denied that I meant it seriously. I mean let’s face it, it was a decent joke at 6:30am. But after I thought long and hard about how I feel about my body at the present time, I realized…no, I meant it. In all its nastiness. And I know it’s unhealthy to feel this way about one’s body, but I dislike shirking the truth. And I am my own worst critic.

So this weekend I will be making it a point to visit our company’s gym and sign up for the $4 per month to use all their awesome equipment and I will be ON A RAMPAGE to change this self-image. I don’t want to keep heading down the path to self-loathing. I’m way too pretty for that.

Thanks for listening. I feel better having gotten it off my chest. Have a fabulous weekend!