Let’s Cut Through The Plastic

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In the spirit of yesterday’s post I am deciding to post one I wrote for FB in february.  I hopped on FB today only to see the dirty games women play to one up each other and make themselves feel superior to others.  I am proud to say that I no longer feel inadequate when someone looks better than me or presents a better life than what I have.  Instead I feel sorry for the women that need to let everyone know just how “perfect” their lives and bodies are.  What an insecure way to live and a terrible way to beat down your female companions.   This shit has to stop.

For me 2011 is about acceptance.  Acceptance of myself, others, and circumstances.  So let me give it to you straight (or curvy in my case).  Meet me, the saggy baggy 34-year-old woman whose scale is sadistically incapable of a number below 140.  My breasts have made friends in the south pole somewhere.  One hasn’t realized it’s a whole size behind the other.  My ass has as many dimples as the day I was born.  No matter how much I want to believe Women’s Health Magazine’s claim of “banish bra fat with one simple move” that unsightly bra fat rears it’s ugly head in the most random tops.  Two abdominal surgeries have left me with scars and mega rolls.  One roll so mega that I can literally tuck it in to my jeans.  I am so used to manipulating this mega roll that I’m considering giving her a name like Claudette or something.  She’s personal to me.  Oh and I must acknowledge the stretch marks and sag fest that a twin pregnancy gifted me.
These flaws, these horrible tragedies are what had me consulting with a plastic surgeon last february.  I had complained for years about my body and I think Adam had finally given up on trying to convince me that my flaws make me perfectly beautiful.  Instead he gave me the most wonderful gift.  He gave me permission to spend the money on plastic surgery.  I had wanted this for so long so when he told me I literally broke down and cried.  The timing was perfect.  We had a connection and discount with a reputable surgeon, I’d have great breasts for our trip to Hawaii, and we had just landed a job with a bonus.  And then there I was sitting in the surgeon’s office mapping out my improvements.  I left that office purely ecstatic that my time to be beautiful was just weeks away.  For days after,  reality began to set in and I realized that I absolutely DID NOT desire someone to “fix” me.  I wasn’t willing to endure 6 hours of surgery, 8 weeks of recovery, 8 thousand dollars, a return visit in 5-10 years to perk everything up again, and the scars would be very visible to my loving husband.  And then I started to think about the message I was sending to my boys.  I would be telling them that women aren’t truly beautiful in their natural bodies.  I realized one surgery could easily lead to another and my satisfaction with myself would not improve because the flaws were not with my body they were with my head.  I am so thankful that I chose acceptance rather than plastic.  Acceptance of myself was the gift Adam ended up giving me.
Fast forward one year. Today my bikinis for Hawaii arrived.  Yes, I said bikinis!  And when I looked in the mirror this is what I saw:
Breasts that stood up high due to the magic of underwire and halters.
An abdominal scar that reminded me I have health.  That scar is proof that I have life.
I saw proof of my beautiful boys.
I saw the belly ring I gave myself when I accomplished my pre-pregnancy weight.
I saw the tattoo that reminds me each day is a gift I want to cherish.
I saw Claudette tucked nicely in my bottoms.  I’m still working on accepting her:)
I saw a woman who has a story and isn’t afraid to tell it.
I saw a beautifully flawed woman.
This is my hope.  I am hoping that as women we can start being real with each other.  That we can stop judging one another.  That we can stop judging ourselves.  My hope is that we can believe our husbands find us absolutely sexy even though we aren’t Carrie Underwood or Scarlett Johannson.  My hope is that we can stop spending so much of our day worrying about our flaws and instead accept them as part of our beauty.  Let’s stop dreaming of the day we can have surgery to lift our breasts, suck our fat, or remove our wrinkles.  I think it can be so much more beautiful to accept each other in all our flaws and stop the competitive game of plastic surgery. We are each beautiful. Sags, bags, and all.
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2 responses »

  1. This post choked me up. I remember when you broke down and cried. I knew you wanted the surgery, but didn't realize how deep the need ran.In order for me to come to the point that I was willing to spend our money for surgery, I had to go to another level of acceptance of you that I had not realized up to that point. Even though I really believed surgery would not make you feel more beautiful in the long-term, I had to accept that you believed otherwise and that you needed to personally and physically experience this for yourself. I accepted the perceived 'flaw' in your thinking when I stopped judging your desire for surgery to actually be a 'flaw'. Acceptance of the situation for what it was: an opportunity to learn more about ourselves…even if it cost us some money, physical pain, regret and sending 'the wrong message to our boys.' Even if you had gone through with the surgery and then later regreted it, I still see that path as not being a mistake. You would have learned the same lesson you learned (i.e., defining your beauty beyond the physical body), but just at a greater cost. Of course, I'm happy to have not seen our money go to this lesson, but then again it's only money.In Love With Your Beauty As It Is and Will Be.

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  2. Pingback: When Will I See Me? | ThinkingWithVitality

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