First time mum/referee/ sleeve snot wiper to a wild toddler. Designated household bum changer. Blogging about this motherhood malarkey from a refreshingly honest and unfiltered perspective.

You, as you are

Do we ever truly accept ourselves, as we are? Our flaws, our impurities, our quirks that make us individual? Will we ever stop comparing, stop longing to "fix" our bad bits? Stop wishing we weren't everything that makes us who we are?

It's easy to do, to agonize over the little nicks, the extra bit of weight, the freckles we conceal with layers of make up, the nose we think is too big, the grin that spreads too wide or the laugh we have that is just too loud.
I think, with social media controlling every aspect of our lives, with every moment being lived to be documented, captured and approved, staged for the audience of aloof followers, it makes us battle in this competition for desired acclaim. 

Seeking connection, validation, a hunger for approval, through the competition of likes and popularity, through the lonely eyes of a dull screen.
Watching the world instead of living in it, feeling as though this farce is what life should be; Likes opposed to a face to face compliment, a half arsed comment instead of a genuine appreciation. A quickly typed 'haha' instead of real exchanged laughter. 

This sugar coated bullshit of how we should look, what we should wear, this fabrication set up to crush our self esteem, question our worthiness.
This absurd unspoken custom that if we are not rated or liked, if we don't have the perfect body, the glossy hair, the artistic make up, that we are then, not worthy enough, deemed inadequate. 

Women don't walk around with a filter, or the glorious photo shop to hide those blemishes, that pesky spot that appeared overnight. Most of us don't attend the gym because we're too busy, because we don't aspire our day to day to be absorbed lifting weights or puking over treadmills, or because we'd rather just enjoy the fucking doughnuts without shame. 

We're flawed, imperfect, messy.
But, that's what makes us who we are.

I can say, I've been that one, admittedly, still can be. Mindlessly scrolling through some other brain cell killing news feed and seeing photo after photo of women with [mostly filtered to fuck] edits, the one we (think) we want to be; the beautiful complexion, not a spot in sight, the perky boobs and hourglass physique and the [cringe worthy] seductive eye stare and awkward hand on chin pose, look-at-me-I-think-I'm-cute (I do not aspire to be that last part. You look ridiculous, stop doing that.)

As always, captured impeccably, they never even have a strand of hair out of place and I've been greeted with that gut dropping realization of, "I'll never be like that," or "I'm not good enough because I'm not them." or, "Maybe, if I looked like that I'd feel happier." Queue, googling to inquire the cost of lip injections and a nose job. 

How often have you been sucked into that illusion of the picture perfect ideal? The way to look or act or speak. The way you "should" be?

There are times where I just need to take a step back and stop comparing myself to this idealistic notion of being good enough through the judgement of an egoistical set up. 
We so desperately need to stop judging our worth based on our idea of what 'perfect' is. This distorted concept of how we are supposed to look; perfect is what you make it. It's different to every individual. 
True beauty is who you are not what you appear to be. Beauty is your own acceptance of yourself, your compassion, the way you love and the way you are loved in return. 

It's not being able to squeeze into a size 4 pair of skinny jeans, it's not posting raunchy pictures seeking compliments to validate your ego, it's not a face smeared in make up 24/7 or looking glamorous all the time. 

It's being real, it's being yourself. 
Its you, just as you are.

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