I am not a Pear Shape

About the age of 11 I was wearing my first bra. Assets I suppose I could thank my Nana for, but to me, I would have, and still would prefer for them to be different. Less, there. You roll your eyes if you sit in a smaller rack, but I tell you what, I envy the ability for you to wear those cute strapless anythings. Like a long strapless maxi dress? Kill for it. Alright, that's extreme, but it is pretty close. I need to embark on an all out  strapping on of a suit of armor underneath that bandeau top for anything to be where it is supposed to be. And wearing all that gear, in the summer heat, when you are supposed to wear those cute tops or dresses? Let me tell you something. A raging inferno goes on under all that boob battle gear, and not in a good way. Things being to melt, slip, dig in, and itch, all you want to do is run home and rip it all off and swear to the creators at Bali that you will never ever again be so foolish.

When scanning through the pages of fashion magazines you see the outfits laid out by stylists that are 'made for your shape or body type.' The newest being the triangle, the rectangle, the circle, or the hour glass. Let me tell you something, unless of course you have been gifted with the perfect hour glass like my darling cousin Kara, who looks stunning in just about everything she wears, ok, she just looks good in anything she wears, you are left with the most undesirable shapes to describe yourself. You're a circle? Yeah, you're welcome for that flattering description, real nice, I'm sure. However, at least you have a description and options, because then there is me. I take the shapes to a whole new level. If it's a piece of fruit, I am an upside down pear, and if its a shape you are after to put in a bathing suit, well I am the cone; an ice cream cone; cake cone, not sugar. So where is the cute dress for this body type, Allure?

So the mirror and I have never had a real good working relationship.
Pictures being tagged all over the place on Facebook? Horrors!!

The carrying and birthing of children has subsequently further damaged said body image. Cause let me tell you something, I had a bad case of it prior to this bodily trauma, and now stretch marks and muffin tops? What on earth!!?!?! Hip expansion? The weird face changing thing? Feet? Mine shrunk. I told you I wasn't normal. Down a whole size. I can't make it up. And then the boobs. Years of weight up, down, and all over the place has just left them well utterly confused. I use the term, 'utterly,' very loosely and will allow you to spell it differently as well.

My closet. prior to my move, spanned 5 different sizes, I kid you not. This is some serious fluctuation.

I love me some clothes. My closet and dresser presently, to my mother and grandmothers horror, is a filled vat of  black and gray, with some white to offset, as well as some polka dots and stripes thrown in. 'How many black running pants does one need?!?!!?' Sixty. The answer is sixty. I exaggerate slightly, but just to annoy them. 'How many little black dresses are in here Melissa!!?!?!' One for each and every occasion I have been to. Ever. Take that.

I enjoy a colorless wardrobe and yes, black is my favorite color. Do you understand how awesome your accessories can be with this pallet though? I would however slightly appreciate clothing that had me looking like I had an ass instead of this pancake. I also would like to be able to purchase a button up shirt that came in a size that was actually fitted in the correct places and buttoned up over my boobs, instead of that gap that occurs. Right now my options are the trash bag with buttons look or the not buttoned up with a cami underneath. I love the flannel shirt thing right now, I would appreciate being able to purchase one.

So I have approximately spent well over twenty years of my life concerned about my body and how it looks. And perhaps more if you count the insecurities surrounding my freckles, but that is minor once you start aging and still have them...all of a sudden you are 'youthful.' I have constantly compared myself to others. I have opted out of photos because I felt like I looked less then desirable. I put on a brave face and mock my chicken legs and the flab that has come from bearing three children in my abdomen, but they have bothered the heck out of me. I stand before a mirror and huff and puff and wish this, that, or the other was so very different. I do the dreaded look at celebrities in magazines, (gasp!), and wish I could look that fabulous just three months post baby.

I run. Well, compared to many, I jog. I do this around my kids schedules so it is hit or miss. There was a  period in my life where I was regimented to run about 40 to 50 miles a week, and sometimes more. I sometimes wished I was as fast or as thin as I was when I ran then. I have thought about running my old stomping grounds and paths wanting to train for a half and then full marathon. But when I thought of this, it was all for the wrong reasons, it was to look like I run.

I have pushed and pulled my body for all the wrong reasons. I have looked at pictures of me with my kids and have gone, 'ugh, photoshop that mug out.' Me. Their mother. I have starved and purged and I have withheld. There have definitely been times I could and can lose some weight, but I beat myself up regardless. Judging myself, becoming my harshest critic. Looking at myself as unattractive because of what I weighed, or what size and shape I was.

I have harshly judged myself over the rejection, opinions, and worth of myself  from the male gender. Not realizing what my true worth or beauty really is. I pour out words of advice to other girls stating why and how not to do that, proclaim their beauty and their worth meanwhile believing a different truth for myself; that I am not enough; pretty enough, confident enough, worth enough.

I stood before a mirror the other day while waiting in line to exchange something while in yoga pants and top, gray, of course. No make up. My hair slopped in a braid. Jake clinging to my leg. Instead of looking at a young boy and his mama in a moment of sweet love, I looked at myself, and made a disgusted face, thinking about just how yucky I looked. And thought about just how unattractive I probably looked in that moment.

I pass hundreds of moms and their little ones throughout my day and I would never think that of them. I think the opposite, 'oh she looks cute with her hair like that.' Or, 'I love that hoodie, it looks good, wonder where she got it.' And many more compliments. When she more then likely stood in line, caught a glimpse of herself, and thought the same exact thing I had thought on that day of myself. Ridiculous.

And it just needs to end. We need to embrace who we are and become what makes us happy. We need to clothe ourselves in the things that we feel best in. We need to stop scouring magazines defeated about our given named shape. We need to encourage one another as women. Just given the fact that we are women makes us beautiful. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and we need to become this for ourselves. You want to eat that piece of cheesecake for dessert? Have at it. You want to do a juice fast or get rid of gluten? By all means. But lets do it because we want to, not because we feel like we will pay the price if we do or don't. My greatest competition is myself. I have made myself uneasy and have chosen not to believe compliments about myself from others because my inner voice is very LOUD. 'Oh they're just being nice, they have to say something.' Let's be louder.

 There is this silly run coming up in Philadelphia around Valentines Day that a friend had posted about on Facebook. It is a cupid run, and you just run in your under garments. She jested who might be 'in' on the run. I immediately was like, 'oh hell no, no one needs to see this run down the street in anything less then some running pants and top, fully clothed, preferably in a sweat suit.' The reaction was much of the same from everyone. But then I got this, why not, thought going in my head. Who really cares, right? There are no rules to your under garments, so a cami with a sports bra underneath and some boxers or shorts undies would be doable. Surprisingly, the reactions were much the same as mine, and not even about just the immodesty of running down the street in your unmentionables, it was how we would look in them. Telling. And I'm not calling any of them out, I thought the same exact thing, and I am certain just this little Facebook feed among ladies I know wasn't the only conversation going this way. In our underwear, some of us cringe when in our underwear in front of our significant others, so on a public street? Running? I'm not doing this unless someone is chasing me...with a weapon...and I don't have one on person. But then it hit me who really cares what I look like, it would be fun. And see that's the thing. Sure, not everything in life is a run down the street in your panties and bra, but the reaction is much of the same.

'I can't wear shorts, have you seen my legs?!?!?!'
'A bikini!!?!?! Goodness NO!'
'A fitted top?!?!'
'I wish I was as skinny as I was when I first said I was fat.'
'I hate my double chin.'
' I wish my hair was straight.'
' Look at these stretch marks!!!' 

We are missing out Ladies!!!

I think you're beautiful. If you have a child, he or she thinks you're beautiful. If you have a spouse or significant other, this person thinks you are beautiful. Someone thinks you are beautiful because you are, and its not just one person. It's true. Its time to start thinking the same thing about ourselves. People say its what's on the inside that counts, and I can agree with that too. But its the confidence we exude as to who we are on the outside that matters to, so let's get on it. 

A run in my underwear?
Why the hell not?
You want to sign up, and I will run with you. Cause no matter how humility free I will proclaim to be on this day...sister doesn't want to do it alone.

Could you do me a favor? Could we start randomly complimenting each other? Could we build up other beautiful women? As simple as 'I love that nail polish shade you're wearing, its awesome, where did you find it?' She will think about how awesome she was for choosing that color each time she glances at it throughout the day, I promise, and you did that for her.

(And over there in that sidebar is an awesome blogger I would love to give credit to for her awesome
 movement to change how we see ourselves as women and how our body image needs to change no matter what shape or size...Brittany, Herself....click and laugh and be inspired.

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