FullaBella님의 저널, 2013년 06월 14일

Second journal because it's a slow day and I'm procrastinating something else I need to be doing. Need to work on that bad habit. Maybe later.

I had a little 'love fest' with myself this morning and wanted to record it. Don't worry FS - nothing to edit here.

It started with looking at my feet admiring my latest pedicure with rose pink polish (instead of the black I'd worn for the past two years) with a specialty design. Pretty.

Then I stared at my feet appreciating they no longer appear swollen like balloons. I can actually see the details of bones beneath the skin. And I'm not sure if manufacturing is starting to 'plus size' their shoes for vanity now or what but I can actually wear a sandal with a strap across the instep and toes; I've never been able to do that in the past, even when I weighed less.

But then 'that voice' started - you know - THAT VOICE. The one that says things like 'yeah, but take a look at that fourth toe, the little piggy had no roast beef, and it's weird crooked bend. Good thing you don't have to earn a living as a foot model.'

But, instead of giving into 'the voice' I shut it down. I didn't shout it out as I have been doing over the past few months while learning to love myself NOW, today, not someday in the future when I, if I, dare I hit some sacred mark on the scale. Today.

In a very soothing voice I said 'you know what, I love that toe. The crooked curve reminds me of all those years of walking in pointed toe high heels through airports, carpeted halls and corporate offices. That toe is like a badge of honor - well earned and well deserved as I supported myself, equally contributed in my marriage and eventually became the sole financial provider. Without that curved toe, I may forget to appreciate that I get to wear these cute little sandals in my shop instead of having to put on 'grown up shoes' to go to an outside job.

With that, I began working my way up my legs and body, taking inventory of every little fault, scar, weird mole, freckle and wrinkle. All evidence of time and situations experienced as I walked this world for over a half a century.

Scars on my wrists and hands from cuts or burns earned when I worked as a cook putting myself through college then later as a I put a holiday meal on the table for my family or as recent as the one on my finger earned grating hash browns for my husband. One on the bottom of my left foot cut on a brick running when I was a child that over four decades of callouses and new skin can't erase. Another on my right knee when I ditched my bike that still glows white in refusal to tan in the summer.

A few I can't see anymore but remember they are there; sad scars from times I'd rather forget but all taken in and endured to make me who and what I am today.

I know some women my age still have the same face and body they had in their twenty's - either through great genes, healthy living, proper moisturizing and dedicated exercise or through the miracle of surgery.

I don't think I'd like that. My crows feet are symbols of eyes that have wrinkled up in genuine laughter and looked back at this world without squinting.

Color me delusional but I love myself today. I've been through a lot. And I'm still here. And I've got the marks to show it.

Bella