It's important! How I learned to love my body

28/11/2021

About a lot of girls and women went through a period of worrying about their own bodies and looks. I remember my calf years when it started and I dealt with my unruly hair, strong thighs, big ass and big nose and pimples on my face. It was a time when I crossed the street when I saw a bunch of my peers standing on my route. I felt different, ugly, and I thought everyone else looked better. I perceived almost every part of my body negatively, and my fingers were not good enough and they seemed like sticks, short and thick. It was a time when I tried to resemble some of our popular stars or models in girls' magazines. I searched for myself and found nowhere. Instead of sourdough dumplings On the other hand, my suffering was not so crucial that I succumbed to diseases such as anorexia or bulimia (and the like). With great pleasure and appetite, I consumed my grandmother's sourdough dumplings. Organizing a table of chocolate for sitting was not a problem for me and it made me very happy :-). These were the moments when I thought it wasn't so bad for me, and she was happy to indulge in all those calorie bombs. At thirty in the hair, like a furious poodle As I got older, I continued to condemn my body. It wasn't that intense, because I wasn't just worried about myself anymore. With each of my daughters (fortunately, I only have two), I gained another three to four pounds, and at my height of one hundred and sixty-eight centimeters, I gained weight sixty-eight kilos and felt like a small tank. My hair was still equally unruly, but I managed to let it grow with the expectation that I might be satisfied. Was not. My hair went down, I was a boy again, and I made it even more permanent, so my head resembled a furious poodle. I also had strong thighs, a big nose and an ass. Slim but dissatisfied But I was already an adult and had a lot of options. I started going to the gym and limited my raids on the fridge. Over time, the hand on the scales, I didn't have digital, moved towards the sixties and I rejoiced. One hundred and sixty-eight centimeters and sixty kilos pleased me, always until I looked in the mirror. In short, I was eternally dissatisfied, I always found something and continued to suffer from inferiority. Every time I saw a super American movie on TV, I decided to do something with myself. But it never led to my satisfaction. Despite the fact that I lost a few kilos, the pimples disappeared from my face, my thighs and butt became significantly smaller, I still doubted myself. Every day I met at least one woman who seemed perfect to me, and I secretly admired and envied her. I admired, but also women, who had many extra pounds, but still had the courage to wear tight T-shirts and short skirts. While I tried to hide my sixty pounds under loose shirts and loose pants. Botox is not the answer Even before I left for Angola, even though I was in my early forties, I still had the confidence to make up for it. Neither the flattery nor the reassurance of my husband, who was still a friend at the time (then still a friend), about how beautiful and attractive I am and how sexy my ass is. My sense of ugliness and imperfection grew with every look at models or famous actresses on television. I was worried that I didn't have the perseverance and patience to change my body. Of course, as I got older, instead of improving my body, more shortcomings increased. The first wrinkles appeared, my hair thinned, and my lips seemed even thinner than before. Despite being a pain, I decided to apply botox to my lips and wrinkles, thinking something would change. It changed, I looked like Donald Duck for a few days. My face was swollen and I felt the same. It just added a feeling of stupidity. I want to be rude too In Angola, despite the fact that many Angolan women are, as I would say, "above-standard", my feelings of inferiority continued. I watched them float down the street every day. Some dressed according to the latest fashions and others quite ordinary and modest. Skinny, slender, but also the most shapely, all with their heads up and in close-fitting models. I was fascinated by their curves, and I wished I had at least a bit of their pride and the inconsistency they overflowed with. Proud Angolan women I admired how beautiful they were, how they had beautiful eyes, full lips, and I began to realize that I did not admire their beauty as such, but that I was fascinated by their nature and the fact that they probably did not worry about their appearance and obviously enjoy their folds and strong thighs. I didn't see any Angolan woman walking with her head down or her back down. Even though their bodies were often several times larger than mine, and their hair was so curly that it resembled a rugged carpet, they always carried like queens. They were not afraid to put on tight-fitting clothes and admire their bodies. They love their bodies and do not deal with pounds "They love their bodies," m replied angel when I asked him how it was possible. Here's the butt base, explaining to them their confidence, which I didn't understand and didn't have. They love themselves and pounds do not solve. They are taken as they are. Yes, he was right. They really love their bodies, they are proud of their pompous butts and they do not solve possible folds (and that some of them have). Thank you for your ass I decided to stop doubting myself, to let my body be, and to stop watching it and blaming it for the nonsensical shortcomings that only my husband saw. I realized that everyone is one and no one is perfect. I ran a program called I'm Perfect and I patted my thighs and ass every day and thanked me for being the way she was. I admit - it took a while, but I did it. In my closet, there were suddenly short skirts, tight tops and T-shirts, and heeled shoes. I can wear my "jacket" I let my hair grow, I have it forever thanks to the heat that prevails here, tied in a bun and the Angolan women admire it. I don't use make-up, only very rarely, my thighs don't seem so strong anymore, so I'm not ashamed to wear a skirt over my knees or leggings and I wrap my folds calmly and without shame with a tight-fitting T-shirt. I am also grateful for my nose, because my sunglasses hold well on it and I will only find out my weight at the doctor's during the check-up. I'm fine, I feel good and I'm most happy that I learned to wear my "jacket" (jacket in Portuguese means ass) and to be proud of it! Satisfied with her self I probably had to go to Africa to start loving my body and learn to accept my shortcomings and learn to enjoy life. I smile with a slight sigh at the models in the magazine. After watching the film Flash dance or Sinful Dance, I don't marry my husband to my mother-in-law for a bicycle and don't find the nearest fit. I know it's useless that I'll never be like Jennifer Beals or Jennifer Gray. It will always be just me, a woman with a bigger nose, some extra pounds, but satisfied and happy at a plate with sourdough dumplings and a good dose of sugar and butter.