A tribute to mothers

  I am a woman! Skinny or curvy? Well! It’s behind me

What is the perfect image of a woman? Does her weight define her personality? This debate has been going on forever, in some cultures the meatier the merrier and in some size 0 is idealized. If you ask women, opinions vary, some plump women would be happy and comfortable in their skin, yet the skinny ones would be unhappy with their image.

I personally fell for this trap ages ago, being a middle child and born in a relatively skinny household, I had always been conscious about my image. Anything I wore, I was never happy with the image I saw in the mirror. Though I am a woman of an average frame or rather say, the most common size i.e. 10. I never was skinny; I had broad bones. I envied skinny girls at school who would buy all fried stuff at the cafeteria and still manage to stay skinny. Throughout my school life I suffered comparisons with my siblings, classmates and all those who weighed little less than I did. Though I was not big or obese but these comparisons turned me into an obsessive freak.   My struggle started way too early than most people can even think. I remember going for morning walks with my mom in grade six whilst my siblings enjoyed sound sleep during summer holidays.

I never participated in sports out of shyness as I would constantly fear I would lose, I never played games that required running or achieving a task. I could never run and catch a bus. Now that I sit and look back, I realize it all happened because of what they made me believe and think of myself. I could never learn how to dance due to fear of being laughed at. I could never learn how to swim out of shyness. My self-created paradigms turned out to be my obstacles. The struggle that started in my tweens lasted until recently I was invited to my 4 years olds sports day at school. At the event, first part comprised of a series of races/events for children and 2nd part was for parents. It was kind of voluntary, but I chose to participate, as I didn’t want my son to see mama not racing. It was a moment of a triumph for someone like me, who never participated in any sort of sports/physical activity (the only activity I have been doing at home is following a home dvd of exercise videos). There was no fear; only thing that was going in my mind was even if I lost, I would teach my son that losing, too, is a part of the game. This was so empowering that I ran on top of my lungs, jumped over one obstacle and under the other one. I was back in the ring long before I knew it. My team and my sons entire class clapped, I don’t remember my heart beating so fast in my entire life. 2nd race was a little difficult to look at; participants were to run with a racket and a tennis ball, without letting the ball fall. I surprised myself again. My realization has come a bit late, my fears started at 8, It took me 30 years to realize that what you think of yourself becomes you. Your fears don’t let you do things you long for, my strength has come through my son. He unknowingly made me realize my potential. I feel so light; it is such a load off to shed my fears. It’s been two weeks since I have started treating my self differently. Body image is the last thing on my mind while I eat, dress up or go out. I have finally accepted myself, and am proud of it. I am proud that I am fit enough to carry my son and spin him around when he asks me to, I can run after him and for him. In other words I am not unkind to myself anymore. I love myself; love my body and everything that is Me! ( I penned this post some 4 and half years ago, meanwhile I learnt to swim, climb on monkey bars) 

me and my son

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