The people close to me would say that I have confidence issues. I say that's not quite accurate. I have confidence that I try to leave the world in better condition than I found it. I have confidence that I'm intelligent. I have confidence that I am an awesome game player. I have confidence that I'm a good mom, and I can be confident about that because my babies tell me everyday. Just the way I tell them that they are the most amazing things in my life. But when it comes to my outer shell, I'm just rather meh. After all, I'm a thirty two year old, mother of two, computer geek with a penchant for fuzzy plaid pajama bottoms. If I ever went through a phase of trying to impress people with my outside package....well hell I never went through that phase.
When I was a teenager I would have told you that I was horrific. That was a word that I used to describe myself often. I was super skinny, had a horrible perm, wore glasses, braces, and had horrible skin. There is a picture of me from my sophomore year that makes me uncomfortable to even look at. There was a time when it could make me cry because I remember how bad I felt when I saw them for the first time. I've decide to share the picture on the off chance that someone reading out there needs to know that the dark days are not the only ones that define us. I'm not that girl anymore and you couldn't pay me enough money to be in high school again. Our cultures obsession with youth really is a mystery to me.I had the perfect combination to make both of the high schools I went to a rather interesting experience. You've heard of the perfect storm? I was, and am, the perfect geek. If you added my penchant for good grades, crafts and the books that I literally carried everywhere, I was a walking stereotype. High school memories are not my favorite. To this day I see a group of laughing teenagers and shudder. The years of being bullied and ostracized left their mark. It was at least a decade after high school before I was comfortable looking into a mirror.
Over the years, as I grew to be comfortable in my own skin, I realized that I was very overcritical of myself. Especially after I had my babies and I went from not being able to keep a pound on to having extra weight on my bones. Right about the time I turned thirty I forced myself to look at my reflection and see who was really standing there. And behold. Instead of the monster I thought I was going to see there was a thirty year old woman who wore a size ten pair of pants. She had short hair, dyed purple and blue, glasses perched on the end of her nose and something she didn't expect. That her Plain Jane face had a smile on it and somehow that made the package work. I took that self acceptance for what it was worth and ran with it baby.
Then I read this article and realized that I had some more inner gazing to do. The very first tip was to wear pretty underwear, something special that makes you feel awesome. And there was the problem. I didn't own any pretty undergarments. Not one. My underwear drawer was full of white, beige, and strict black underwear that was very functional and in some cases designed to trick my mind into believing that my curves were earned without a love of food. They were ugly and I realized that if push came to shove, I wouldn't want anyone to see me in them. I mean it's underwear and not really meant to share anyway but my point stands.That also go me looking at the state of my entire wardrobe. Holy crap, when did I start wearing everything so baggy and in such dull colors? My entire wardrobe was in shades of brown, grey, black, white, dark blue and consisted of loose skirts, baggy shirts, sweaters, cover-ups, mom jeans and pajama pants. I sat down and had to ask myself, when was the last time I actually felt pretty.....and could not come up with an answer. I don't even remember feeling pretty on my wedding day and it's been almost two years since then. That is a problem that I couldn't ignore.
So I thought about it for a few moments and then decided there was only one thing that could be done. I needed to head over to the store and see what I could find in the way of lingerie that didn't make me feel like I was trying to squeeze into anything obscene or like I was trying to be someone I'm not. The goal, to find a bra and panties that made me feel like I could walk around my house and not be ashamed if someone saw me in them....I mean besides the fact that I would be walking around my house in my underwear in the middle of the day. My pick for the journey was Ross, which fits my families sometimes stretched budget to the tee and at least gives me a fair chance at finding something pretty in my size. Although sometimes that's not true. The stuff they have on the Large rack can be a gamble, hullo irregular zebra print jeans.I get there and have a few minutes of ZOINKS. Some of what they had was the same straight up ugly material that I already had at home. White, beige, and black seas of confining fabric. Then there was the stuff that was just not made for my Downton Abbey loving happy self. I love lace and sweeping fabrics. If I had my druthers I'd dress like Lady Mary every single days. But I digress. What was before me was a buffet of Zebra stripes, Cheetah print, neon colors that made my eyes vibrate in my skull....no thank you. Next! Then I found them. Pretty, lacey, frilly scraps of fabric that I'm not sure I would have even thought of in my single days. I admit that I bought them without trying them on, one of my holdovers from those dark days is that rooms with many mirrors make me itchy.
Taking a deep breath I took them into the bathroom, divested each of them of their tags so I couldn't chicken out and put them on. Holy crap! Is that me in the mirror? I mean I still have the curvy figure, stretch marks and goofy grin....but somehow the woman in the mirror seems to be ok with that. And you know what? I really did feel prettier!
On to the next Adventure!
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