Exposing myself

I’ve always been insecure, and have talked openly about it. And I know that I’m not the only one.
Actually, everyone has insecurities, and it’s just how we choose to deal with them.
When I was at school, I let them show. People could tell that I was insecure.
As I got older, I still felt insecure, but I never mentioned it. I kind of hid it in a way.
And now?
I’ve started confronting my insecurites. Almost telling people about them, so that we can “get that awkward part out of the way”. Like let them know what I’m insecure about.
I don’t know why though.
In my head, I feel as though telling someone that I have hairy arms, makes them less likely to go home and be like “urgh, did you SEE her hairy arms?”.
I think that by telling them, they know that I am aware of it. So we move on from it.
When actually, chances are, people probably couldn’t really give a SHIT about my arms.
Like, why would they?
They have other things to be doing in their lives.
I am not a big deal.
Neither are my hairy arms, or my wobbly bum, or the fact that my thighs stick out a little too much, or that if I wear my hair up, I’ll think that I look like a boy.
But to me, those insecurities are a big deal.
Still.
I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever shake them off. Do they stick with you? Do you still wonder how you look when you’re in your dressing gown of a care home? Do you take your insecurities to the grave?
Or as we get older, do we kind of, get on with it. Get over them..

I’ve had people say that they find it odd that someone who can ‘take photos and put them on the internet’, can be so insecure. That surely you’re confident.
Because you know, we put pictures of ourselves up. So that must mean we really feel good about ourselves.
But they’re wrong. Far from wrong.
What they forget to realise is that we too, take 900 photos, to pick them to pieces individually and only decide that three are appropriate (even if your nose definitely still does look slightly bigger in the second one). They forget that actually, we are still hiding behind our computer screens and by us putting a picture out there maybe makes us feel a little better.
Because everyone wants to be complimented.
Everyone wants to feel good.
But sometimes, compliments don’t mean anything. Because those insecurities will just never ever disappear.
Sadly. I think.

Take my breasticles. They’re not hideous, I guess they’re just like any other.
BUT, saying that, I have spent years and years thinking that something wasn’t right about them. I would put off being naked infront of anyone, because, if I didn’t want to see my breasts, why would anyone else?
And then one morning, I was in a hotel room with my work colleague (who I’ve only known since late last year, yet somehow we feel like we’ve known each other for years), and her nipple was showing. So she showed me hers.
It was just a normal nipple. I made my comment. And then I did something I’d never done before.
I asked her if she wanted to see mine.
And I showed her.
And I had never shown any girl friend my boobs before.
Nope, I was always that one who tried to tactfully remove my bra whilst putting on my bikini top. That was me. Hiding away these things on my chest, these little boobs and nipples that I’ve been given. And won’t be going anywhere.
But that morning, I just thought,
SCREW IT.
I’m showing her. And actually, I felt no different. She wasn’t sick. She didn’t book a doctors appointment for me. She didn’t flinch. Nope, she just looked, nodded and we carried on our day.
And just like that I realised that these thoughts in my head are sometimes stupid.
My body is not hideous.
I am a size 8-10 with curves. And a fairly large ass.
And most of the time I’m OK with that. I’m OK with my dress size, I’m OK with my thighs touching, I’m OK with having small boobs, I’M OK with having a waist, and I’m OK with my bum being a little bigger than my frame.
I can change my dress size, I can make my thighs not touch when I open my legs, I can get larger boobs and I can sort my ass into shape.
But what I struggle to deal with, is the things that cannot be fixed.
I cannot change the hair on my arms.
I cannot stop thinking that I look like a guy with my hair up.
I cannot get rid of my scars on the backs of my knees.
I cannot change my face or my thick hair.
And I cannot change the bullies in the past.
What I can change, is the way I look at myself. I think I knock myself down about the things I cannot change, because I simply know that they are there forever. I have a reason to dislike them.
But we are all given these bodies, we have all been created individually, and we should all love our self.
And I can sit here and type that.
But do I actually do that myself?
I’m not too sure I do.

So maybe I’m going to make a pledge to myself.
To know that even though my insecurities won’t disappear overnight (or twenty), I should instead focus on the good things about myself.  The things that make me as a person, the person I am today. The things that other people tell me about myself. The things that I do to make someone happy. The things I say that help decide my future. And the things that make up who I am. That sets me apart from everyone else.
That makes me, me.
Because I know I’m not a bad person. I’m actually alright. I may not have a photogenic face, a pretty smile, an envious body or the perfect hair. I may not be laying in a bed of money, have fancy holidays, live with a hot guy and have hoards of friends.
But I am good at making people laugh.
I am a good friend. A friend that will care for people more than they ever realise.
I am spontaneous. I’m up for new challenges.
I’m fun to be around.
I’m kind. And humble.
I wear clothes that suit my body. That make people talk.
I make the best of any situation.
And I appreciate everything in life with little money that I live off.
I’m me.
And I’ll never be anybody else.

And maybe it’s only now that I’ve realised, accepted who I am, and that with every flaw comes beauty too. I guess it’s like anything in life.
It takes work. And with a bit of love and water, we can all grow.

“It’s not who you are that holds you back. It’s who you think you’re not..”

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