Permission to be yourself.

I need to give myself permission to be.

I have no idea who I am.  Only an incredibly long list of who and what i’m not, running parallel with who and what I think I should be.  How can you change what you can’t recognise?

In my head i’m supposed to be happier, thinner, social, not-alone, not lonely, a better wife, a better mother.

When I was younger and a size 8, I thought I was fat.

So why do I place so much potential contentment and happiness on size?  Why am I so disgusted by my size.  What does size matter, really?

I see people of all shapes and sizes.  Many of them if questioned probably wish they were more this or more that but it doesn’t prohibit them from being, from living.

I’m a great believer that if you’re content with life, it doesn’t matter what size you are everyone has the potential to look amazing and to look awful.  It’s not just what you are, it’s how you feel.  If you feel good you look good.

Is my real ugliness my size, or my unhappiness?

I eat.  I over eat.  It’s my friend.  My time filler. My punishment.  My reward.

I like food.  Wrong foods.  Yummy foods.  Bad foods.

It’s not rocket science, I eat too much and exercise too little.  yet even when weight loss was going well.  I still didn’t feel happy.  I still felt ugly.  I still didn’t know who I am.

What’s so wrong with eating?  What’s so wrong with liking food more than losing weight?

I see so many plus sized woman (I loathe that phrase) who look amazing.  They have killer taste in clothes, they have an incredible sense of personal style.  they smile.  they enjoy life.  They, at the end of the day, don’t give a fuck.  They’re accepting the cards they’ve been dealt and making the most of life because life really is too short for unnecessary sacrifices and misery.  They’re funny, quirky, intelligent and fucking beautiful. They have given themselves permission to essentially be themself and living their life.

l sense of self.  I fear that there is no self left within there.  I’m just so hollow.  Painfully hollow.   I can’t describe myself.  I have no favourate places, hobbies, friends, strong likes/dislikes, style etc.  I literally go nowhere.  See noone.  Do nothing.  I am nothing.

So in the absence of self I need to create one.  Yet none of them fit.  None of them work.  None of them are me.  It’s just a series of alien and unachievables people in my head that I feel I should be.  People that I’m not.  People that I never was and never will be.  People that I can’t be.   That I feel I want to be.  yet even that is bollocks, because I don’t want anything anymore.  There’s nobody inside me to do any wanting so even that is just what I perceive I should want or would want, if there was a me.

It’s so hard to describe, to put adequately into words how it feels to have no self.  Not to dislike who you are, or to be unhappy with who you are but to genuinely have no idea who you are.  To honestly doubt that there is actually anyone in there.  It’s terrifying.  You can play every role given to you in life apart from the role of self.

I need to start somewhere.

If you can’t fix the inside, may as well start on the outside.  I’m not advocating obesity.  I’m just trying to give myself permission to say ‘so what?‘ to say maybe ‘I can be beautiful’ that ‘I don’t have to change’ that it really can be okay to just be what you are.  That only you can define you.

I see plenty of miserable woman, and you know what?  They’re skinny, slim and overweight.

Any size can dress badly.  Any size can dress amazingly.  The best accessory is a smile.

Instead of always trying to be different, smaller , better yet never feeling enough what if it just stops now?

What if size is just a number, an excuse?

To be unhappy.

To be miserable.

Maybe if I can create a person from the outside, it will fill the inside.

What if we can just decide to be beautiful?

What if we have been all along? Or had the potential to be if we only let ourselves.

Why do we need to be anyone other than who we are.




What if I never find who I am, again?  What if i’m nobody? What is there really is nobody inside?




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