Miss Perfect or What the heck does it matter what I look like?

“I've gone through stages where I hate my body so much
that I won't even wear shorts and a bra in my house
because if I pass a mirror, that's the end of my day.”
~ Fiona Apple ~

Fiona Apple is completely unaware of this, but this is my story, too. I hate walking around naked. I get changed as quickly as I can. I don't particularly like swimming – which is great because I actually don't like walking around in swimwear. I don't like wearing pants that end above my knees because my knees are ugly. I hate shopping for pants (and dresses and skirts) because my upper legs are actually wider than my hips (and this makes it a nightmare to find pants that fit over my legs and then also fit my comparably small waist).

“But… you are beautiful, your husband adores you, you really don't know how gorgeous you are.” Oh yes, I have heard things like that. Can I believe them? No. Because I have also heard many other things: “You have sturdy legs, you've grown pretty big hips, you're boobs are quite small, you look like you've gained some weight.” Do I believe those things? Happily. Because they are supported by today's fucking stupid what-people-are-supposed-to-look-like-standards, they are proclaimed from every billboard and TV and cinema screen. Women are supposed to be perfect. Perfect in every respect. I am not perfect, full stop. I am actually far from it. It is impossible for me to measure up to these standards. And actually, it is impossible for every single person. Women AND men.

Back in the day it was hip to be big. Being big spoke of prosperity and health. Nowadays it is hip to be athletic and skinny. Being skinny speaks of discipline and health. Funny, that. I yearn for the day when we are able to look at each other and don't see prosperity or discipline or health. When we look at a person and see just that: A person. A human being with a story. A human being worthy of love and respect and honour.

Steve Maraboli once said: “There is nothing more rare, nor more beautiful, than a woman being unapologetically herself; comfortable in her perfect imperfection. To me, that is the true essence of beauty.” I wholeheartedly agree and yet, I still don't dare to walk around my house naked. On the outside I pretend that I am (mostly) ok with my body. But when I look into the mirror, I see only what is wrong with my body. I am yearning for the day where I am able to look into the mirror and tell myself:

“Hello, fellow human being.
You are beautiful. Every single bit.
I love and respect and honour you.
And now: Get undressed and marvel at your unique beauty.
With love from a fellow human being.