I’m Not Perfect… And That’s OK

I’m not perfect, and I have to come to terms with that. Weird statement, right? Who would be so egotistical to think that perfection was even an attainable option? And what would “perfection” look like anyway? I don’t think I’m anywhere close to perfect. And for some reason, my own flaws are really difficult for me to accept, especially when it comes to appearance. Bananas, right? A woman with self-esteem issues tied to her appearance?? I’m a trailblazer.

Seriously though, I have definite hang-ups about my appearance and I’m working on them. Most of the time, I can accept and generally love the person I am but it rears its ugly head at strange times. Like when my boyfriend wants to shoot our Christmas card in a rush and we won’t have time to take enough shots to make sure I’m comfortable with the angles (angles… never underestimate the power of angles and lighting in photos) so I have a mini meltdown just thinking about it. Or when we’re late for an appointment, but I have to scramble to throw on makeup because I’m broken out and wildly uncomfortable with a truly naked face.

Why does it matter so much to me? Who I am so worried about impressing? We all know true confidence comes from within, but damn, it sure is nice to get a little outside validation from time to time, amiright? I’m lucky enough to be with a person who loves me unconditionally, and who truly believes I’m the most beautiful woman in the world, inside and out. AND he verbalizes it. Daily. I mean, come on. This is the shit of fairy tales.

As embarrassed as I am to admit it, I think being with someone who is so effusive about my beauty is helping me feel better about myself. I wish I could say I feel confident in who I am and how I look all the time, all on my own, but that’s just not the case. And that’s OK. Being with Gil has basically given me a bar to strive towards: I want to feel as good about myself as he seems to feel about me. I want to embrace the beauty he sees, and see myself through his eyes.

I was feeling particularly vulnerable yesterday as I was struggling with a massive breakout, and there is only so much that makeup can really do. So I threw on a bright lipstick and a big scarf and made my way to the office. That night, I crawled into bed exhausted from the day, and stuffed up from some kind of sinus issue and felt, well, disgusting. I finally wiped away all the makeup I had on for the day, and was completely exposed. Face full of zits. And as Gil laid down next to me and looked into my face after I’d just blown my nose in a towel (don’t judge me), all he could see was beauty. He told me (like he does every night) how beautiful I am and how much he loves me.

I know I’m bordering on disgusting and sappy right now, but I have a point, I promise. In that moment, I had a burst of confidence in my beauty, however you choose to define that word. I spent the whole day at work checking my makeup and trying to camouflage the things I was self-conscious about, wondering if I looked OK. And then in that moment laying in bed, with not a stitch of makeup on and all my flaws completely exposed, I reveled in that feeling… the feeling of being beautiful and loved.

So I documented it. And now I’m sharing it here. Naked. Vulnerable. Not perfect. But feeling happy with my life, my relationship, and the woman I am. If that’s not beauty, I don’t know what is.

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My Love/Hate Relationship With The Word “FAT”

I am fat. Objectively, this is true. I don’t live in some strange delusion where I don’t know this to be the case. I know it is, and I am taking steps to change it. Some days more than others, but it’s a process, and if you’ve never struggled with your weight, you don’t understand it’s about more than just “eating healthier” and “exercising more,” although those elements are both necessary.

There is a reason I gained the weight in the first place, and it’s more complicated than “I ate too much.” I mean, I totally did. I ate way too much and didn’t exercise nearly enough, but I have to really take a step back to understand all the reasons why and work on them.

Anyway, I accept the fact that I am fat. For now. So in a way, I embrace the word “fat” and love that there is a voice on the internet that is getting louder and louder every day; an army of women stepping up and owning who they are, no matter what size. Proudly rocking bikinis and crop tops and demanding a better selection of clothing for plus-size women. Women who refuse to let their size define them and who accept themselves for the people they are. These are women who have reclaimed the word “fat” and said “eff off” to those who would use it to try to make them feel “less than.”

To them, I tip my hat. I am wildly impressed with their confidence. And part of me embraces the adjective “fat.” It’s just a word, and words only mean what we allow them to. Case in point, my boyfriend tells me all the time how much he loves my “fat butt” and I know it’s a compliment because he can’t keep his hands off me. And I know my butt is “fat” and not “phat.” At first, it ruffled me a little – “fat” has always felt like a dirty word to me, and I was terrified of it in high school and college. So to have someone I love use it to describe me was initially a shock to my system. But now I really embrace it. He really does love my big ol’ butt, cellulite and all. He wouldn’t change a thing about it. He loves my body more than I do, and I’m trying to take a page from his book and embrace me, as I am, right now. So in a sense the word “fat” is helping me to accept myself, which is pretty awesome.

But on the flip side, I freaking hate it. It’s a word that has traditionally been used to put people down, belittle them, and act as a ridiculous excuse to pass judgement on someone’s worth as a person based on their size. And to those people, I say “go to hell.” Being fat does not define who I am as a person – it is a state of being that I happen to exist in right now.

I’m fat, sure. But I’m also funny, successful, happy, beautiful, kind, loving, clumsy, loud, opinionated and strong. If you ask anyone who knows me to describe me, I’m certain they would choose one of those adjectives before “fat.” And fat doesn’t trump any of the things on that list.

No matter who we are, we shouldn’t have to be defined by physical appearance. Unfortunately, that’s not the case – we ARE defined by physical appearance in so many ways, and not just regarding our weight. Our appearance is the first thing people notice when they look at us, and people DO form opinions. And some people will be unkind based on certain physical attributes. So we have to find ways to take ownership of those things, and find self-worth from within. To be kind to ourselves, even if people around us aren’t doing the same. Easier said than done.

I’m not stupid or delusional – I understand the health risks associated with obesity and the fact that no matter how hard we fight, there WILL be judgement passed on those who are overweight. I live in the real world – I understand these things. But as I’ve been reading more and more articles and fashion blogs from plus-size women practicing self-love and body acceptance (whether you’re a size 2 or size 22), I am inspired by them. By their confidence, their bravery, their style, their swagger, and their sexiness. But what I can’t understand is why so many people seem to have such a strong negative reaction to these women who are simply on a quest to love themselves even if they happen to be fat.

Fat is not an obstacle to happiness.

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I can only speak for myself when I say that yes, I know I will feel better, more energetic and healthier when I lose some of the weight I’ve gained over the last couple years. But just losing that weight is not what is going to make me a happy and fulfilled human being. Accepting myself and those around me for who they are, travelling the world, saying “yes” to things that scare me, and spending time with friends and family are things that will contribute to my happiness. Loving my “fat butt” as much as my boyfriend does is a personal goal of mine. I’m gonna love my fat butt so hard.

Because you know what? I deserve unconditional love from myself. I am happy to love others unconditionally, and I understand what it means to do so. And I accept unconditional love from others. But unconditional love from myself?? That is a newer concept for me. And it means I need to love myself now, with extra weight, as much as I would if I were a size 6.

A very wise friend of mine said to me years ago, as I was having a meltdown over my weight before a night out in Vegas, “Court, we will never be here again. In this moment, right now. Be happy and enjoy the experiences in front of us. Weight is a temporary thing – you can always work to change that. But we can never get this moment or experience back.” He was right. I want a happy and amazing life RIGHT NOW. Not 75 pounds from now. I deserve happiness, at any weight.

So by any standard definition of the word, I am fat. But I do not solely identify myself that way, or even primarily identify myself that way. It’s just part of me right now, a person who is constantly evolving. And one of the elements of my evolution is my body. At the end of the day, this is the body I’m living in right now, so I have to accept it. I can work to improve it, but my worth cannot be tied to a number on the scale. My worth is determined by me, dammit.