I follow a lot of plus sized bloggers, especially since putting on all my weight from the medications I am on. I love clothes. I love shopping. I love dressing up. These blogs point me to beautiful clothes and quirky outfits that let me still dress like a “normal” sized person. All of them are amazingly beautiful women in all shapes and sizes and colours.

Every now and then I come across and image that really blows me away and today this was it….

(This was posted on Chubby Girl in the CIty and before that Goodbye MnemosyneI tried to find the original owner but had no luck…if you know who it is please let me know so I can give credit, where credit is due)

Isn’t she GORGEOUS?!?!?!?!

We are trained to forget that this is what real women look like. We get sucked into the magazines and television version of what they think women should look like. Maybe they think this is what will sell. If they do throw in a plus sized girl she is usually weird/quirky/side kick/gets a make over & loses weight and her life becomes wonderful ect. ect.

From a young age my Nana (a beautiful artist in her own right) took me to art galleries. I remember looking in awe at the beautiful paintings of women – lumps, bumps and all. They were curvaceous, luscious and so incredibly beautiful.

When I saw this image today I was stopped in my tracks. I had to just sit and stare. How amazing is she? There in all her glory just as she was suppose to be. Can you imagine how the world would change if young women like her all of a sudden showed themselves for who they were?

I personally have suffered from low self esteem. My mother & my grandmother (who was the opposite of my wonderful nana) both were obsessed with my weight and I can remember comments made from as young as 7 or 8….and I was a stick figure then. I practically went from being a flat chested tiny girl to getting curves everywhere and by the time I was 12 I was wearing a DD cup. I also was sexually abused repeatedly during this time. My body became something I hated. I was teased at school by boys, girls hated me because I had boobs and they didn’t and at home I was being used as a sexual object. I lived in a beach town where all the girls were slim, flatter and athletic. I had curves.

I met my husband when I was 17 and it was only when I was 6 months pregnant and started getting stomach stretch marks that I looked at my photos and thought – wow…I looked good. Then came the baby roller-coaster. Get pregnant, get more stretch marks, have baby, breastfed, loose weight, get pregnant, more stretch marks, have baby, breastfeed, loose weight, realise your boobs are fast migrating south, get pregnant, find out it’s twins, get extra stretch marks because you are now the size of a house, have babies, realise your stomach now hangs down to your knees, breastfeed, don’t loose weight, end up with a body that looks nothing like it’s “suppose to”.

I cried after I saw myself in the mirror just hours after I had the twins. my stomach was stretched beyond belief and I felt awful. It didn’t help that when my father in law showed up he asked if one got left in. Of course helpful friends brought me magazines to read complete with how yet another celebrity, had yet another baby and now look at how skinny and amazing she is. This celebrity is fast approaching a size 4…time to get back on the diet wagon. This celebrity is dangerously too thin – eat please, you’re setting a bad example. These totally mixed messages are all in one magazine leaving me confused and even more self loathing.

My twins are almost 8 now, and thankfully my skin had more elasticity than I gave it credit for and I feel slightly more confident in my body. After all it’s me. If I don’t love me, who else is going too? One day I hope to be able to stand in all my glory to have a portrait like this – even if I don’t share it with the world – to be able to look at it, like this photo, and see a beautiful woman. One who has had 4 children. One that has lost and gained weight. Someone who has finally embraced their body.

After all, if I can’t do it, how can I expect my daughters to stand a chance?



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