You Didn't See Me

My sister shared a post with me today that put a smile on my face. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve been where the young writer has been and shared the same thoughts with friends over the years, or because she’s young and realizes the lies we as women are inundated with on a daily basis.

So today, I made a pit stop at the grocery store with one of my children, and as usual, at check out, I couldn’t help but glance at the magazines by the gum and candy. To be honest, I really don’t care about the hottest stars, their love lives, who some random person out there selects as “the sexiest man alive”. I really feel embarrassed about looking at all, but I often squint to see the pictures on the bottom left of women’s bodies on the magazines that dare you to guess which star they belong to, or pictures of starlets without make-up. Sadly, these are never flattering pictures, nor are they any that would make any man or woman lust or envy. On the contrary, they are rather humiliating, but it makes some of us breathe a sigh of relief. After all, it makes us feel that they are a little bit like us and don’t have it all together like they would have us believe.

 

If those images aren’t readily available, the words that leap off the various covers have to do with what men think is sexy right now, the latest lipstick that’ll make my lips “pop”, a new way I can tighten my derrière, how to make my abs look like I stole them from a prepubescent girl. Then, I go from “tee-hee-hee” to drab. My thought? Wow, I used to look like that: colorful lips, my pants always fit tight and right, and my abs…with as much as I went to the gym, they should have been on magazine covers.

 

As I undress for my ritual of two showers a day, morning and night, I walk by one mirror, feeling myself for a second, but then the shirt comes off, and I see the real me. I see the once tight and toned abs ladened with grizzly bear scratches that I know as stretch marks. So, I quickly wrap my towel around my body and look away from the image that’s staring back at me.

 

As I exit the shower, feeling wonderful after lathering myself with a nicely scented body wash and feeling a sense of refreshment, I timidly walk past that mirror again. This time, I linger a bit. I look at the me that only my husband and I have seen. The me that my children have seen on accident and either runaway screaming about or which stimulates unsolicited conversation or questions. “It has come to this?” I ask myself. “This body used to be bangin’. I could wear a bikini if I wanted to and get a lot of inappropriate responses that would make me blush. Now, anything that would show my mid-rift would not even be considered. What would I be thinking to expose myself like that?

 

The body brought to you by Victoria Secret is not me. The leggings that help shape what’s left of my once bodacious derrière gives me some hope that with the right number of lunges and squats, I could get my sexy back. The nice, loose black blouses from New York & Co and Express help hide up my epigastric hernia repair scar and Diastasis recti I’ve been working hard to correct since the birth of my daughter. I don’t wear make-up often, so don’t think I don’t notice you staring at me in pity because at my age, I still suffer from acne. Honey, it’s been years, and I am still not use to it, and I know the look all too well. I’ve even become accustomed to the “Oh my gosh, you should wear foundation more often; it makes your skin look so beautiful!” Code for, “Oooh, girl, you have some bad skin. You really need some help with that.”

 

So, why even leave the house if this is how I analyze myself and feel? Well, honestly, despite all my physical flaws, I see the fruit of all of that: three amazing children that may get on my last nerves at times, but whom I adore and for whom I am very grateful. And, I have a man who thinks I’m hott, despite how flawed I am. He knew me before 95% of the transformation began and knows the hard work that got me here. He can barely keep his hands off of me, and that’s enough for me.

 

I’ll do the work: drink my green shakes, do some Pilates here and there, but this body’s tired, so all I can do is what I can, and nothing more. Yes, I have my down days, but they get fewer and fewer with the passing days, because I’m so much more than what people see. I don’t care what those magazines or anyone else says, this is the body I’ve got, so I’m gonna work it, baby. So, if you didn’t see me before, now you do.