I have a very strange relationship with my body image. But I have a very strange relationship with just about everything in my life. At some point my psyche decided that straightforward simplicity wasn't going to happen if there was any possibility of totally illogically complicated confusion. So while other people can just say they feel a certain way about something, I can't do it in fewer words than the 'Kubla Khan'. Which is bad enough already, without factoring in my tendency for long-windedness.
To be perfectly frank, my body image is shitty but I'm paradoxically comfortable doing things that would suggest a way more positive self-image and a lot of self-confidence.
As I mentioned before, when I can find gigs I work as a freelance model, which means I quite willingly and happily let someone I don't know very well spend several hours taking many hundreds of photos of me, photos that will eventually be posted on the internet for the world to see. And I enjoy doing it. It's fun, it's interesting, it gets me out of my apartment, and I always love the finished photos. I'm even proud of the work I do. And I do nudes. I hate my body, I think I'm fat and I have stretchmarks, I think my proportions are awkward. Other women with similar and even identical body types are beautiful, but for some reason (a predisposition for excessive self-loathing, I imagine) normally attractive features and traits become repulsive when they're on me.
I do have some pride in my appearance and I try to dress nicely and look cute all the time, but I do so in ways that hide or disguise 'problem areas' that make me self-conscious, which is pretty much everything. I never wear shorts because I think I have horrible legs--I'll wear short skirts, but not without leggings or tights that are thick enough to stop a bullet. I never used to wear fitted jeans, and even though I do it now it's more because I kind of have to than because I'm trying to show off my butt. (I hate my backside. I have a butt like that boulder that chased Indiana Jones out of the temple.) I have a narrow waist--proportionally narrow, of course, since I'm too fat to actually have what people would consider a 'narrow' waist--and very short legs, meaning I need a smaller size to accommodate them, and that means getting jeans that are snug on my backside.
In addition to that, I also happily attend Renaissance festivals and LARP events at which costumes are the norm and slinky costumes are pretty well a standard feature. The stuff I wear is pretty scandalously revealing sometimes--including a bodice that laces up the back and front but leaves a three-inch-wide strip of skin bare down my back and between my breasts that leaves me only one deep breath away from a wardrobe malfunction. And I own a leather brassiere. I'll wear that bad boy with nothing under it at all, even though I think I have a belly pudge that makes me look like I'm in the second trimester.
I have no problems, absolutely none at all, being topless in front of people. Including people I've never met. Were it at all legal to do so, I would go topless in public when the weather is warm. I just have zero self-conscience about being topless. I would probably be religiously careful with sucking my stomach in, but the thought of people seeing my flagrantly asymmetrical breasts doesn't faze me in the slightest.
But, I am extraordinarily self-critical. My dress size is a source of anxiety and depression. Almost without exception, all of my features are subject to ruthless criticism and self-loathing. (The only one I consistently like is my eyes--I think I have amazing eyes.) I constantly wonder how I look to others and whether or not people find me attractive.
My boyfriend adores me and likes everything about me and he's even seen me nude in pictures (the same nude pictures that are posted online, for fuck's sake) so he's well aware of what I look like without my clothes on. Despite this, I was extremely anxious about letting him see me naked. The first time we were together I didn't actually let him. Until a few weeks ago, I'd never be naked in the same room as him unless it was dark and he didn't have his glasses on, without which he is legally blind. Even though I was completely find sleeping half-naked or completely naked in the same bed, partially on the theory that he wouldn't see all those perceived faults if we were under the covers and he was sleeping like a dead animal.
None of this makes any sense. I realize that. It doesn't even make sense with me and it's an unquestioned and accepted feature of my reality that I never considered trying to change because that's just how things are with me.
But then, if there's one thing I'm consistent about, it's inconsistency.
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