Friday, November 5

Wee Small Hours

I like to wake up earlier than everyone in the house.
I  tip-toe around like a kitty cat on silent paws
and sip coffee the way I remember my great-grandmother sipping her's -
but she drank from fine bone china and rested her cup on a saucer in-between sips.
She read the paper at the kitchen table.
I sit on the couch with a computer on my lap,
coffee mug at my side.

Right now the only noise I hear is the faint hum of the refrigerator
and the jingling of the dog's collar as she scratches her ear.
The fridge noise actually is not that soft and is rather annoying now that I think of it.
Pretty sure that bad boy is on its last leg.

I have about thirty minutes left before I must get ready for work.
I do not want to go today - not a bone in my body wishes to walk through the doors
and smell that school smell and hear those school noises and ask kids to be quiet.

Some days are better than others and some days are plain hard.
I think the pom girls drain me the most with their needs, their bickering, their everything.
Next year I refuse to let an outside obligation rule my life - I will not sponsor an activity.

I wonder if today will be a day that I beat my body up and hate it,
or if I will feel wonderful and slim.
I cannot tell yet and I am not sure what my trigger will be if any.
I do know that my fixation on my appearance cannot be right,
it must be too much and pushing obsessive.

I do not want to write about it, but something keeps telling me that I must
and that it might be the only way to heal and move forward.

I know that I am pretty.
I love my hair.
I love my face.
I even like my ears.
I love my small chest; it makes me feel pretty.
Did I just hit the nail on the head - small makes me feel beautiful?

Why for the life of me can I not move past my body?
I am smaller now than I have been for years.
I have worked hard to get here.
I do not want to obsess every day.
It is tiresome.
Bothersome.

I have to teach my daughter to have a good body image,
but how can I do that if my own is tarnished?
Where did this come from and how did it start?

You would not know this about me if I did not express it.
I look perfectly put together most days.
I take good care of myself.
I love clothes and fashion.
I exude confidence,
but deep down I am a tiny little school girl fighting the crowd.

1 comment:

Desiree Fawn said...

Body image is such a hard one -- I'm right there with you. Some days are good, and some are torture. <3 On step at a time, I remind myself.