This is no new thing for me to suffer from; if you’ve been reading me long enough, you know I’ve already spoken on it before. But sometimes it seems to sneak up on me like a snake, and takes a bite out of my heart (aka: what little confidence I might have built up since the last time I was bitten) so big it knocks me off my feet and depression rakes my soul.


In the last two years I’ve made legit efforts to work on both my inner and outer appearance; to wear clothes that were more representative of my style and figure, to be brave enough to express myself with funky hair and makeup the way I always wanted to, to take care of myself with better eating and fitness for both my overall health and weight issues, and to actually “feel” pretty on occasion. And as several of my posts have indicated, I did feel pretty on occasion for the first time in a long time because of these efforts. There have been several days I’ve finished my makeup and hair and even considered taking a selfie to mark the moment because I was so impressed with the look. But those pictures never seem to look the way my eyes or mind see myself, which brings me to this latest snake bite.


I finally got my wedding pictures back this past weekend and to say I was excited for them would be an understatement. The whole day was over so fast, I feel like it was more like a something I dreamed rather than something I actually participated in. My memory of the details of that day hardly exists; I just know I was happy. I remember feeling like a million bucks, gorgeous the way every bride wants to be on that special day. But as I look through these pictures I feel like I shouldn’t have lied to myself about feeling so pretty. Every little flaw seems to beam at me brighter than anything else in the pictures; my double chins that have almost eaten my neck whole at this point, my waistline, which a tape measure swears I have, but certainly isn’t evident in the pictures, how my unnecessarily big boobs that had just went down 2 bra sizes still manage to look even bigger than my already big head, the way my fat bulges out of the sleeve, even though I had to have them taken in and they were nowhere near tight on me… I could pick apart these pictures forever. In fact, the more I look at them, the less I love myself in them.


Everyone I’ve showed them to says I’m crazy and I know I should probably listen and stop tainting such a special day with self-hatred. But while a big part of me knows it’s not healthy to pick on myself as much as I am, I also don’t believe it’s a wise idea to lie to yourself about your appearance because then pictures like these fall into your lap and the shock of what you truly look like is almost too much to bear.


All of this being said, I still intend to share the pictures and recount the day in my next post. I recently read a very thought provoking article about photographers, this particular one being overweight like me, always capturing someone else’s memories and never putting themselves in front of the camera because they don’t want to remember being that big or flawed. That one day they’d regret not having those memories of their own because they kept waiting for that magical moment when they wouldn’t hate the way they looked and it never came. I already feel this way at almost every family gathering. I’m there to capture it for everyone else, but I almost never put my camera in someone else’s hands to capture me being there too. Not just for my own memories when I’m old and losing it, but for anyone I leave behind when the end of my days comes.


I haven’t had this sort of hatred for myself in a long time and I doubt it will just vanish overnight, but I’m going to keep trying to improve myself both physically and mentally and hoping that one day pictures of important moments in my life won’t make me cry the way these did. That if there are tears, they’ll only be the happy, nostalgic kind.



Self Image & Style

This is a topic that almost always interferes with my thoughts, even when the person deep inside of me doesn’t want it to. I am not shallow. I am not concerned with my outward appearance. But then again, I am. There are things I wish I could wear, things I wish I could rock, but a pain exists inside of me in knowing that I can’t, that I will never be that kind of girl.

It’s not that it’s not in my blood, in my soul. It’s just that my body isn’t built for such beauty. The worst part of it all though is that, my mind wants to see me as something that I’m not. And when I say this, don’t go assuming I mean in a negative way. I have the absolute opposite of POV when it comes to my self image. I don’t know if that’s an actual disorder like bulimia or anorexia where girls who are actually sickly skinny still see themselves as fat, but it’s something. In my minds eye I am fit, tiny and athletically built. Someone with tone muscles and lean. But I am not and the reality is no matter how hard I try it’s unlikely I ever will be. I’m not designed that way. Being in front of a mirror reminds me of this every day.

I am short; barely 5’1” and my bones are thick. Even if I could be the weight doctors recommend my wider structure would just look awkward. I naturally have large breasts (which sadly just might be my best aspect) no matter how skinny I am and my hips are wide to match their girth. I can’t remember a time I was ever under 100lbs. and doctors say based on my height and age that I should be no more than 115 lbs. I can’t see this ever happening, no matter how badly I’d like it too or how hard I work for it.

Still, my mind sees me like this. It envisions me as this tiny, petite awesomely built person that I am not and will never be no matter how much I try. I used to work at a gym and I had unlimited access to personal training and equipment and back then I was in the best shape of my life and I still wasn’t my recommended weight. And I still had these drastic curves between my top and bottom and clothes still didn’t work on me. Clothes I want so desperately to be able to wear. (Such as the pictures included in this post, btw.) And all of this saddens me. I mean shit, I can’t even represent a band t-shirt without looking like the blob which is what I’d probably most often wear if my body let me.

I would never be one of those people to have *work* done to be the person I see myself being, but I wish I could make it happen naturally. That God would grace me with what my mind tells me I look like if I tried really hard for it. Because I hate that instead of representing myself on the outside the way I feel on the inside I must resort to frumpy clothes and sizes that disgust me because I am who I am.

In truth, I can’t believe I relieved this because I’ve long accepted the fact that I will never be who my mind imagines, but something tells me I’m not alone, that I can’t possibly be the only person who sees themselves differently than they really are and because of that alone I felt the need to reach out to you.

How many of you feel this way? If you could be the person you are on the inside on the outside what would it look like?

Peace – Sarah