I have spent so many years feeling like I am at a constant war with my body – well, my body and my looks.
I remember spending an exorbitant amount of time in high school trying to achieve what I thought was the perfect physical form. I wanted to be tiny. I wanted to have the same waif-like look that so many of my friends seemed to possess. I wanted to be as petite as the women on my mother’s side of the family. None of this was actually achievable, though, since I inherited the build of the Italian side of the family – the hips, the curves, the large bosom.
As I grew older, got married, and carried three incredible children my body changed into something entirely different. The curves expanded, the hips widened a bit, and the bosom had to be reduced due to severe back issues. I spent so much time lamenting at how I was built and how I looked – always wanting to somehow keep up with the other women I deemed beautiful.
But I couldn’t do it. Even with diet, exercise, and expensive makeup I remained me. Sometimes in color, but still just me.
But this weekend I had a bit of an eye opener – a revelation of sorts. Saturday was a day I reserved entirely for myself. I went to a new stylist and had her give me an incredible new haircut that is not only easy, but fun and flirty and I spent the afternoon shopping with my friend. I saved a bit of money recently and decided I would use it to add a few new pieces to my wardrobe. It wasn’t so much a need to be stylish, but more of a lack of desire to spend so much time in my yoga pants. I’ve notice this feeling within me that wants to put the athletic clothes in the back of the closet in favor of looking more like the 33-year-old curvy woman who I am.
My friend took me from store to store and picked out things I normally would pass on in favor of bigger, less fitted styles. She encouraged me to try on each and every piece and talked me through the different ways to wear and accessorize it with what I have. Not only was I surprised with what I tried on, but I became unbelievably shocked when I realized that, for the past 4 years, I have been wearing clothes that are at least 3 sizes too big for my frame. It was liberating to put on a dress or a top that fit the way clothing is meant to fit. And, as I was trying on these pieces that I wouldn’t normally pick for myself, I realized that it isn’t about the number on the label at all. What mattered was how I felt about myself when I looked in the fluorescent dressing room mirror.
Truthfully I felt incredible. And it wasn’t necessarily about the clothes…
I started looking not at the flaws in the mirror but at the girl in front of me. And for the first time in more years than I care to admit she was smiling back at me.
I was smiling at myself. I felt a lightness in my heart and saw a glow to my eyes when I stopped and really looked at who I am.
And in that moment I think the curvy girl hidden behind all those years of self-doubt stepped up and decided to be a bit of a bad ass. And a piece of the uncertainty for years about how I look was replaced with the first seed of self-confidence.
So I’m going to try…
I’m going to try to rock these curves that carrying my babies gave me. I’m going to try to strut my hips just a bit more. I’m going to embrace my top-heavy figure.
And I’m going be the bad ass that looked back at me in that dressing room mirror.
I’m going to be me.
Neena is an occasional freelance writer, recent earner of a PhD, a nighttime romance writer, refuses to eat mint chocolate chip ice cream unless it is actually green, and once met Martin Sheen in a Kmart in Ohio. She also has five tattoos and a mortician for an older brother and wants to know if you wanna be friends. Find Neena at HooeyCritic and on .
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