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I am my own worst critic, A.K.A. who is that fat girl in the photo?

I am my own worst critic, A.K.A. who is that fat girl in the photo? (more info at palomacruz.com)

“Big.” “Chunky.” “Plus-sized.”┬áThese are all words my loved ones would use to describe my appearance. Others would just call me “fat.” The medical community would use the word “obese.”

Strangers and acquaintances alike take it upon themselves to try to shame me, to make me understand the way that I’m destroying the world by insisting on being fat. There’s an entire industry (several, in fact) dedicated to trying to solve this problem for me. And I’m told every day, in many many ways, that if I just stopped being fat I would be better, happier.

Most days I manage to drown out the external and internal voices that try incessantly to let me know that I’m a failure, that every “extra” pound is one more mark against me. Most days I’m just louder than the voices, so they don’t make an impact on my day. Some days I’m not.

I want to have the courage to wear a bright red fitted dress without thinking about the muffin top or the love handles. I want to have the boldness to have my photo taken without dreading the split second where I see just how fat I am compared to the others. I want to stop seeing myself, and judging myself, through the eyes of others. I want to stop it all … now.

And I don’t mean that I want to lose weight (though I want that too). And I don’t mean that I want better clothes (though I always want new clothes). I just want to love who I am, in my current size and shape, without having to work at it.

I guess when I achieve that I’ll know I’m actually, finally, a grown up.

In the meanwhile, I’ve challenged myself to try to take more selfies … and I’ve been failing at that too. But I will get better. And I will keep trying. At some point I’ll stop dreading the photo … eventually.

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Good days don’t last

God is laughing at me, again…

Yesterday I was so happy.
Today I had to undo everything.

I know that God is laughing at me, again.

TzTproduction / Pixabay

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Letting the world get to me

I’m sitting here trying to center myself. I am scheduled to speak in a few hours at a big conference. It’s kind of a big deal and I was thrilled to get asked. I felt honored.

Today it’s hard to connect with that feeling.
My new job has robbed me of all the joy from this experience. From making me feel guilty for taking the day, to making it impossible for me to make it to the conference.

Just getting in to the conference was an exercise in frustration.

The nice volunteer who checked me in noticed immediately. She very nicely suggested I take a few quiet minutes to destress before delving into the conference. Ten minutes later I am much much better.

If I hadn’t taken her recommendation I would have gone around with a dark cloud ruining the day for me. And that really isn’t the way I wanted to go through today.

image source:PublicDomainPictures / Pixabay

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Apologies are required

I owe you an apology, I know. I’ve rehearsed it in my head, the words I will use, the tone of voice and the subtle “I’m sorry” it will include. I owe you an apology, I know. But you’re probably never getting it.

My father used to do this thing where he blew up, he would make mountains out of molehills, leaving us baffled over his extreme reaction to small things. As I’ve grown up I’ve realized he was reacting to other things, but that was never any consolation.

He never apologized. He would be extra nice for a while, and we all knew why. He was trying to make up for whatever he said or did without having to say the words “I’m sorry” or “I was wrong.”

I guess I’m more like him than I thought.

I’ve previously written that my first reaction is something I’ve had to learn to ignore. My first instinct is to confront, argue, yell — never the reaction that will make things better, never the tone that will solve the issue.

Today I did that. I lashed out on something that wasn’t a big deal to someone who actually wasn’t really at fault. And I knew immediately that I was wrong.

I’ve been practicing my apology in my head all day. And that’s where it stayed.

I never said that I made sense.

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image source: WikiImages / Pixabay

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