Isn’t it funny how so many of us go through life caring about our image. How the magazines spend their time writing about who wore a certain dress best. Who’s putting on too much weight. Who’s losing too much weight. Well to put it bluntly – who the f*** cares? (I have to censor swear words now I’m sorry).
Why do we choose to pick out our flaws rather than embrace the things that make us different? Why has it become the norm to hide our bodies? To shame people who choose to love theirs?
Why the hell does such a vast majority of society live each day to please someone else? Why don’t we just live to please ourselves? I mean, are we really going to be laying on our death bed asking ourselves “why did I wear that?!”, “why did I eat that much?” “why did I say that” or “why am I so fat?”. No. I don’t think so. And if we continue asking ourselves these questions, more than likely one of our last disappointments will be the fact we didn’t accept nor respect ourselves.
I’m no stranger to self negativity. I suffered with bulimia for two years. And not even a collapsed lung from the amount of vomit trapped in my lungs stopped my hating my body. It’s not until now where I’ve been given something deemed as “different”, that I’ve accepted my body. I don’t really get the chance to think about what my belly looks like now, because half of it’s covered by a bag. The other half of it though looks pretty damn good though. And it’s not flat, it’s not toned, it’s just a normal belly. But it’s the bit didn’t have to be cut apart and covered in stitching. It’s the bit of my skin that’s still scar free. And I like that. Although, I love my scars too. My scars remind me of everything I’ve been through and everything I’ve overcome. They remind me that I survived. They make me really proud to wear them. And I wear them with pride. Hey, I even love my bag! I love the fact it’s different, and that it gives me a story to tell.
What I do get the chance to think about though, is what I’m doing with my life. Where I’m going, and where I want to be. The more you think about that, the greater chance you have of acting on it.
So just take a moment, and look at yourself. Think about what you’re doing, where you’re going. If you don’t like yourself, change. Be somebody you’re proud to be. If somebody doesn’t like that? F*** them. If you don’t like what you’re doing, quit. Work hard to find what makes you happy. Try new things. Don’t hold back. Don’t be afraid. Do something that makes you so crazily happy that you wake up everyday ready for whatever the day brings you. Be someone where you can look in the mirror with pride. But don’t be ‘you’ for someone else.
It’s a shame that it took nearly losing my life to make me appreciate it, but let me tell you, I’ve never appreciated myself more. I’m finally looking further than my reflection. I’m digging deeper into finding what I’m passionate about, I’m searching for what makes me happy. I’m living in the moment, taking each day as it comes.
P.S. I’m actually sat here eating a massive bag of chocolate right now. And I’m not thinking about how bloated my belly’s going to be once I devoured the whole packet. I’m just worrying about whether my stoma’s going to cope with it or not!