Ok, so maybe it does in certain circumstances, but I’m referring to something a little above the belt. My stomach.
As I sit here writing this, sauce from my slice of pizza remains in a corner of my mouth. Licking it away, I revel in the spiciness and reach for another piece, not because I’m hungry, but because it tastes so damn good and I want it.
My body is height/weight proportionate, but I still worry. I do have belly fat, my thighs jiggle, there are dimples (i.e. cellulite)…everywhere. But frankly I no longer care. The BBC showed a documentary on being thing. Two journalists went from a UK size 10/12 to a size 00, in just five weeks. One dieted and exercised like a mad woman, the other just dieted.
While both came very close to their goals, they each learned something. The journalist who dieted and exercised was pleased to come very close to her goal, however she “loves life” too much to give up food and “real life.” The other journalist spiraled into madness – mood swings, terribly unhappy, and she became obsessed with the goal, well beyond the project. Her final statement on the subject was, “Dieting is madness.”
Why, then, do we women put ourselves through this torture? For the sake of vanity? Are we really that shallow to believe that we will be ‘better’ than…who? Who are we competing with? Each other? Or is it to ‘attract a man?’ And drive yourself insane while in a relationship with him? Is he really worth starving yourself for? And if he is, what happens when things get serious? Are we ‘devalued’ because we are a size 12 rather than a size 4? Why can’t we women, sisters in arms who stand together to break through the glass ceiling, just appreciate the assets we all have instead of ridiculing one another over our flaws?
Beauty truly is skin deep and time will always have its way with us, unless your filthy rich and can afford several trips to the doctors for ‘maintenance.’ I, for one, am going to proudly strut my stuff in a bikini, or shorts and tank, or even wear that tight shirt that shows off a little too much flab, secure in the knowledge that yes, I am good enough. My friends and family love me just as I am. And do you know what? Your friends and family love you – JUST AS YOU ARE. Why not share the love, then, with your fellow sisters?
by Tara Aarness
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