I found this post on http://www.pintrest.com/. It is oh, so true. Words can hurt almost, if not more, than physical blows. Words stay with us for years and years, especially if they are uttered by those we love. Well, even if they are spoken by mere acquaintances, words can be like blows from a sharp instrument.
I cringe when I hear someone criticize another's appearance because of the lasting impression words make. We can change our attitudes. We can change our habits. We can change our routines. We can change our locations, friends and even family if we so choose. However, we are stuck with our bodies. With our facial features. With our bone structure. With our height. Unless we spend our life savings supporting surgeons who give us new noses and ears, we learn to utilize our features to the best of our ability.
In fact, the way we perceive ourselves is not how we look at our reflection in a mirror each day. We measure ourselves by how we think others will perceive us. Our happiness is dependent on what others think of us. Are we too fat? Are we too short? Are we too tall? Does our ears look funny, nose too big? Do we have too much gray hair? Is our hair line receding? Do we have crows feet? Do we have frown lines between our eyes...heaven forbid, do we have "laugh lines" bracketing our lips?!
Do we have scars we hide? Do we have blemishes which we feel that only ourselves are unlucky enough to be cursed with? Do we have sagging skin, growing softer with age? Do we have stretch marks that we look upon with disdain instead of happiness - because they brought new life into our otherwise dull existence?
Looking back into my teen years (almost 30 years, now) I realize that I wasn't fat at all. I was a developing young woman. In my 20's I wasn't fat. I was a young woman who wasn't made like a stick. I didn't believe my daddy when he told me over and over that a man doesn't like to hug a "bag of bones".
My grandmother, who obsessed with appearances, always had a quip about my inherited hips. An aunt always had an opinion as to why I didn't have a steady boyfriend: "when you lose some of that weight..." never mind that I was a teen, with plenty of time to find a significant other.
My cousin insinuated that I wasn't in style because I was "too big". I was "too big" because I was several inches taller than she. That guy at high school who snickered and called me names every day when I walked by "his" lunch table; just because my parents saw to it that I dressed in a conservative way each day. The girl in my lunch time class who always picked up her tray and moved whenever I sat close by: because my nails weren't painted, my skirts not short, my lips not red and my home life included a farm.
When I was a teen it was torment. I hid the majority of my feelings. No one knew I felt shaky and insecure when I was around many family members and school classmates. Why did no one know?
First I have the ultimate Savior whom I leaned on and prayed to each evening. I cast my burdens upon Him, because He cared for me. Second, I had a handful of faithful friends, whom I still have to this day. Friends who loved me for the person I was and am, not for the person I could never measure up to.
And over time as I have lived and learned to accept myself, I realized that the perfect people were not so perfect after all. I also realized that even though I am not beautiful, I am me. I have the capacity to love who I am - a woman who has traveled many roads to come to the place where I am now.
I have laugh lines around my eyes. I have wrinkles on my forehead. I have a nasty, unsightly scar in my tummy that isn't repulsive to my loving husband. I have a saggy belly riddled with stretch marks from carrying a baby boy for 38 weeks. I have gray hair that has taken over my head. I still have those "Hodges" hips...they go with me every step I take.
I found a "steady boyfriend" who turned into my husband when I was 31. I had an active single life of learning and building a career while scooting around in a yellow Mustang. Being taller than the majority of the girls I knew isn't an issue now...since my hubby is much taller than I. And even if he wasn't...he would be secure in his manhood enough for me to wear high heels. He tells me I am pretty; that I have beautiful eyes; that he doesn't remember the girlfriends he had before he met me; I know he loves me.
My skirts are still not short and my lips aren't red. My shape is more round than curvy now and oh boy, am I starting to sag. But I am content in the state I am in. Oh, of course, there is vast room for improvement. There's this thing called exercise that I could get more of. There are virtues like patience and understanding that I pray for daily.
But if I don't enjoy my life now, when will I? Will I let folks who mutter about me behind my back dictate who I am? No. I will hold my head high. I am not perfect. But I am in a perfect part of my life. I am a wife, momma, business owner, and a person.
And since my third mammogram in a year came back with a clean bill of health, I am going to kick up my unpainted toenails...drink my coffee...kiss my husband...hug my boy...squeeze into my clothes and say a prayer of thankfulness. A prayer of thankfulness that I no longer have to measure myself by the dictates of others and be a stepping stone for their insecurities.
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