It's a new month, a new quarter, and the official beginning of the end of 2015. This past year has been so good to me from both a professional and personal standpoint, and in the spirit of staying true to myself and being authentic, I'm challenging myself to write one personal blog post a day for the month of October.
I love writing about fashion, style, beauty, and fitness, but I don't want to forget to share who I am as a real person. A real girl just trying to live her life on her own terms. So thus, here you have it, my first blog post during my "Let's Get Personal" October challenge. There's no special hashtag or giveaway or brand sponsorship, just me, sharing my life, with you.
Today's post is called, "But I feel fat though," because, well, I do. I'm a confident, rational, smart woman, but yet I still have this gnawing little voice in the back of my head that whispers, "you're so fat", "your thighs are huge", "could you have anymore arm fat? look at how it jiggles." And of course, when I share these irrational thoughts with my family and friends, they quickly assure me that "I look fine and it's all in my head," and my obligatory response is, "But I feel fat though."
But the truth is, and I'm very well aware of this, is that I'm not. I'm healthy and strong - not too thin but by no means overweight or fat, and even if I were, who cares? So why is it, that in my rational mind and in reality, I know I'm not fat but I still feel fat?
I could chalk it up to an ego-feeding case of body dysmorphia, but in reality it's the residual effects of being surrounded by images that claim to be the standard of beauty but isn't what I see reflected in the mirror.
It's a symptom of when people can buy fake booties like a Kim or Khloe K., and be revered as the most beautiful women in the world but yet Serena Williams, who's a natural beauty, and a strong, healthy woman, is beaten down in the press and media for "looking like a man" and the very essence of her womanhood is called into question.
When the perception of beauty is exploited on a cultural level, some can get away with plumping their lips and tanning their skin, but those with naturally full lips and dark skin are left behind, discounted, called names, and are left to feel invisible and unworthy, then we give power and validation to that gnawing little voice that tells us that we're 'less than.'
The wound of this cultural schism runs deep and wide and continuously bleeds into the self-esteem of women, young and old, black and white, then and now.
So how do we save our little girls? How do we save ourselves? The answer is, I'm not exactly sure. I don't have the magical answer on how to rectify this problem that is now so intrinsic and systemic within our society.
But I do know where to start.
And that's with myself. When that little voice starts to creep up, I can confidently tell it to "Shut the hell up." And mean it.