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Accepting Your Body

Miss Mitford

There are 3 billion women in the world who don’t look like supermodels, and only 8 that do. I read Anita Roddick’s words, plastered across every Body Shop Window a few years ago, and had an epiphany. I wasn’t a supermodel. I was a size 12 on a good day, with big boobs, a smallish waist, an all right backside. And that was OK.

So it’s not up there with grasping the concept of relativity, but for me, that moment was a crystal clear signpost. And an excuse to go shopping for my new body, which was admittedly the same as my old one.

Since that breakthrough moment – Einstein, eat your heart out – I’ve banished not only high-necked dresses and empire lines from my wardrobe, but also developed a newfound appreciation for what my body can do.  Produce two perfect babies, then nourish them for a year apiece. Appear a whole size smaller when I cut out on carbs.  Complete a 5k run, fairly regularly. Fit into some respectably skinny jeans.  That’s pretty amazing stuff, really.

Marilyn Monroe.

That is not to say that I don’t look at skinny-pinny petite ladies without a certain wistful envy from time to time. Or girls with skin that embraces the summer, rather than semaphoring scarlet distress at the first sight of a sunray. But I try to balance those times out with the knowledge that I’ve been in enough communal changing rooms by now to know that sometimes I’m the source of the envious glances.  ‘Are your breasts real?’  asked one girl, with an enviable French-girl fried egg pair of her own. ‘I’m saving up for boobs like yours.’  I couldn’t help but feel incredibly flattered.

So, ladies, this is your lightbulb moment. You might shave off a few pounds or gain a couple of inches in height with those funny looking platforms. (Don’t get me wrong, you should certainly use whatever’s available to make the most of what you’ve got). But do you think you’ll look back at those pictures of yourself in 50 years time and think that you were anything but hot, hot hot? Course you won’t.  So enjoy it.  Swagger, strut and stride to the nearest mirror and give yourself a cheer.

By Jenny Coyle @missmitford

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