Has there ever been a time in your life where you have not experienced some form of self-loathing? Feeling obsessed over the way you look and your physical appearance?
I was thinking about it recently and I don’t actually recall any age where self-loathing wasn’t thought about in some form or another.
Looking through my old diaries is basically a car crash cringe fest for the mind. Hilarious and horrific in equal measures and looking back with adult eyes it is full of self-loathing thoughts.
The Ages of self-loathing
The teenage years; as a 14-year-old girl obsessing over the spots on my face, I had a daily blemish count. On the 3rd August 1993 there were 40. ‘Why can’t spots be on your arse I wrote, where nobody can see them.’? Which is funny to read now, as what do you know I got what I wished for at nearly 40 years old I have spots on my arse and not my face #winner.
The 20’s; I move onto obsessing over the fat on my thighs in my next self-loathing rant. ‘Oh I wish I had slimmer thighs and a smaller bum’. I actually even purchased a thigh master!
Can you remember them?? Annoying things that popped out if you could not maintain the strength in your thigh muscles to keep them still. Trying desperately with my dodgy knees to tone up my wobbly upper legs and saggy arse.
The 30’s; is all about the cellulite, using creams, exfoliating gloves, massage and prayer to get rid of the orange peel skin. I even ordered a cellulite busting book from America through my mum’s old catalogue and excitedly waited the 3 months for it to arrive.
I was sure that there must be a magic cure if I looked hard enough and yes I did buy into the marketing ploys of all the major beauty companies about the next miracle cream.
Now nearing my 40’s; it’s all about the face. Where did all these wrinkles come from? If I stand in front of a mirror and squish my face up I can only describe the image of a Chinese Shar-Pei looking back at me bemused at where my youth went.
I was not aware what jowls even were but it seems that I am getting them! I had to google it and instantly wished I hadn’t. Don’t get me started on the age spots, when did I become old enough to even get those? I thought it was just a really big freckle that had appeared at the side of my eye.
The 50’s? I am guessing that will be boobs – the words saggy, limp and wilting spring to mind.
The 60’s? I am thinking the hair that is already turning grey in places will be a complete covering of white.
The 70’s? Well I tell you what, I refuse to entertain any more thoughts of self-loathing and I will be one of those people you see in Benidorm on the mobility scooters being filmed for pensioners behaving badly in the sun.
I want to say screw you to the ages of self-loathing, I think I need to embrace the things I do like about my physical appearance like my eyes, my ears and my lower calves. (don’t laugh)
I don’t want to give a sh*t what I look like as it really doesn’t matter in the whole scheme of things. I need to just except this is me, this is what I look like and who gives a fudge.
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