Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall: Who has the jiggliest bits of all?

Looking in the mirror and liking what you see can be tough. We have all heard about magic mirrors growing up. Mirrors do have magical powers, too bad they are used against us. Mirrors have this splendid, magical, fantastical way of zeroing in on every insecurity that we have with our bodies.

You hate your stomach, you say? Oh, well let me magnify the fact that you gained ten pounds. Let's also not forget to show you that third fat roll forming. Oh, oh, not to mention, BAM, fat dimples everywhere!
Oh, your boobs not looking the way they used to, huh? Well, let's see, let's make it crystal clear that there is a grand canyon of space forming between them. Add that to the fact that they aren't as perky as they used to be. Hm, let's sprinkle some stretch marks in there. Feel terrible? Great, my work here is done.

Jiggly thighs getting you down? Hm, you seem to be pessimistic about this body part, let me help that by showering it with shadows! Lookie! There's a crater here, here, here and here. Hm, let's dump a boatload of cellulite over the affected area, that should make you feel right as rain.

Mirrors can be complete and total jerks. It is because of how my boobs and my thighs have looked in the mirror that has caused me to hate them over the years. When I would look at my boobs, all I could ever focus on was the fact that they looked nothing like what I had hoped they would. They didn't look like any I'd seen on a regular basis. They were saggy and sad, and that made sad.

I spent a lot of my time in the mirror examining them. I pushed them this way, that way, lifted them up, let them thunk down. I'd mash them and massage them and a lot of the time I'd just sit there and look at them. I would think about how great it would be if I was a witch. How cool would it be to wiggle my nose, or wave a wand and they would be the boobs I always envisioned? Or that I eas like Jeanie and I could cross my arms, blink and nod, and there you have it: perfect boobs. I spent so much time hating my body parts that it didn't dawn on me that I should love myself as is.

Getting to that point was a long struggle. One that, as many of you can guess, my partner helped me through. She has loved my chest ever since she first saw them. The first time we ever saw each others boobs is an admittedly funny story, involving a bathroom stall in a Japanese restaurant. That is a story for another day however. The point being, she made me feel better.

From admiring them within a bra and naked, from showing them some TLC, she made me realize that if she loved this piece of me so much, that there had to be something I was missing. So, I went back to the mirror, and I sat there gawking and for a long time I couldn't see what she saw. I tried to, but it was no use. But the love just kept coming, and coming, and coming.

There just had to be something that I was missing. Some piece of the ever complicated self love puzzle that was just beyond my grasp. So I kept going back to the mirror and eventually it clicked.

She just loved me.

That was all I had to do, to conquer the mirror. I had to love myself unapologetically. I had to look at my naked form in the mirror and not feel sorry about what I see, but to feel love and comfort in the person that I am. I conquered my first demon that day, and I haven't looked back since. 

However, my thighs and I are still locked into a love hate battle. Growing up, if you saw my mother's legs, you would understand my deep seated fascination with gorgeous legs. I would have killed for my mom's legs growing up. Fat, but slim, powerful, smooth. It was the smoothness of them that got me. I knew from a young age that I wanted smooth legs; just like mom.

What I got growing up.....not so much. My legs are chunky. My legs are fat. My legs are riddled with fat dimples and cellulite, and a little chub of fat hangs over my knee caps just slightly. My legs look like adult sized, chubby baby legs and it bothers the living hell out of me.

Once again, I was back into old habits and me and Mr.Self-Hate Mirror were back to being chummy pals. He would point out all the things wrong with my monstrous thighs, and he would laugh. Meanwhile, I felt like I was breaking inside. It wasn't fun. But I couldn't tear myself away from my magic mirror of flaws.

It's taken me a lot of honesty to admit that I still hate my thighs/legs as much as I do. It's taken a lot of power not to sneer at my reflection in the mirror. It has taken a lot of strengthen and courage to become okay with what I see when I look into that mirror each day. My thighs and I ate still on a journey, but I'm not going to walk down this road telling them how much I hate them along the way. Ultimately, they carry me down this road. I can get nowhere without their love and support.

My body is my temple and I should treat it as such. That means shattering the illusions that I see within my mirror each day. That means, waking up each and every day to a perfectly imperfect human being and learning to love that being.

My boobs are saggy. I have a fat stomach, my a** could stop traffic, and I hate my thighs. But I love me. I am unapologetically myself and that is something that a mirror can never take away from me again. If you had told me six years ago that I would have the confidence and the love for my body to post my naked legs online, in a blog post, for a blog that I created. I would have laughed in your face. But there they are, read'em and weep. My fat baby legs, uncovered and unashamed.

Will I hate them for a little while longer? Probably. Do I still love them, despite hating them? Yes. Your relationship with your body can be as complicated as any other relationship in your life. That doesn't mean that the love isn't there however. My legs are a piece of me, and I am pretty damn awesome.