|dress: c/o Cothing at Tesco|
|cardi: new look // heels: primark|
For as long as I can remember, I have always been unhappy with my size and shape. I know I've never (quite) tipped the scales into the "obese" section on the BMI scale, but I've always been unhappy with the way I looked. It wasn't thin. I've never been one of those effortlessly skinny girls; the ones who'd look like Kate Moss chic in a binbag. I've always been chunky thighs, love handles and a solid frame. And of course, like everyone I know, I wasn't happy with my lot. I don't know any girl who doesn't have a list of the things she wouldn't mind chamging about herself. Eye colour? Height? Chubby ankles? Boobs? There's bound to be something, which you see about yourself as not-quite-good-enough, even if nobody else would ever notice it, let alone mention it!
Mine has always been that I wanted to be skinny. I used to go to the gym every day, spend hours doing sit ups and cross-training, I've tried yoga classes, karate, step classes and even aqua aerobics (which took a great deal of effort to be honest, I'm not confident in a swimsuit, even less so when jumping around in a pool in one). Until I started swimming more often, though, I didn't see any changes to my shape at all. Those 400 lengths a week, coupled with a few hundred sit ups each morning, are finally starting to pay off.
So far, I've lost two and a half stone, and a lot of inches from the various parts I've measured. I know I have lost weight, as none of my clothes fit me in the same way that they used to. And yet, when I stand in front of the mirror, I don't see any difference to the chubby-shaped girl I hated the sight of. I've mentioned the fact that people I vaguely know find it acceptable to mention my weight-loss to me as though it had been an accident. To be fair it did start off that way.
I read this post from Nicky's blog this morning and could really relate to the first paragraph. I looked back at the pictures from my blog posts a year ago, in order to find a particular outfit, and caught myself thinking "jeez, how did I let myself wear these things when I was that size", which I know in a way are kind of stupid thoughts because at the time I was more comfortable with the way I looked. Now I don't feel comfortable in any of my clothes for a different reason; I don't like the way they hang off me in certain places. I'm gutted that I no longer seem to have any cleavage to speak of, and I detest the fact that I'm practically tattooed in a spider-web of stretch marks.
And yet, when I looked in the mirror the other day, all I could think was how round my stomach looked, when I'd been quite happy with it the previous week, and how I should therefore up the sit-ups. I guess what I'm trying to say, is that the grass isn't always greener. I thought that losing weight would be the answer to my lacking self-confidence, but in reality, it's had the polar opposite effect. Read this post, by Alex, as she's totally and completely right.
This dress, which I won last week in a Clothing at Tesco competition on Twitter, does actually fit me, which is why I've added the outfit photos to this otherwise word-vomittey post. I guess once the shopping ban is over and I buy some clothes in the correct size, my confidence will hopefully return.