An Open Letter to the Girl Who Hates Her Legs

 

To the girl who hates her legs,

 

I get it, because I do too. There are many parts of my body that I wished looked different: my thighs, my boobs, my stomach, even my feet. But on the outside, I’m as confident as they come and every time I look too closely in the mirror, or feel bloated, I board the struggle bus alone with a one way ticket to the land of pity parties.

 

I’m over sharing with you right now because you get it. You board that same ridiculous bus. And while doing so, you look over at the passengers on the next bus that look happy, and confident, and like they have it all together. What you don’t realize is that they are probably boarding the bus and going to the same place you are.

 

As females, we tend to overanalyze and overthink.

 

I do this ridiculous thing where I look in the mirror sometimes and shake my legs back and forth to see how much they jiggle. Maybe if I did a few more squats they would be firmer. I’ve been on bra shopping and bathing suit shopping excursions that have literally ended in tears because in the process of losing weight in high school, my boobs lost weight as well, but not the skin, so they’re not as perky as they should be. When I put my jeans on they hug me a little tighter than I would like, and sometimes the flabby parts of my belly hang over a little. You would think that seems pretty normal, right? What girl doesn’t have insecurities and struggles?

 

I’ll be the first person to tell you that I believe in self-love and self esteem. I believe that every woman, no matter her age, is beautiful, unique and completely capable of changing the world. And yet, I can’t seem to stop myself from walking down the street and putting people into categories and then determining where exactly I fit in these categories. Everyday there is the curvy, the thick, the thin, the drop dead gorgeous, if she only brushed her hair, damn her style is incredible, wow she should learn how to dress … Get the picture? And then we wonder why we are so critical when it comes to ourselves. Not to mention, we live in a society that objectifies women, so when we don’t meet societal standards, we feel like we fall short. Maybe you’re like me, and half the time you walk around with your head in the clouds completely unaware of this because most of the time you are pretty confident as a person. Or, maybe you’re like the version of me who is in Europe right now.

 

That sounds ridiculous, right? Let me explain. I’ve been working in Eastern Europe (Romania to be exact) for the last number of weeks. All the females here are stunning. They have dark complexions, perfect skin, amazing style, and they look like they take hours each morning to get ready … except naturally. And here I am, a pasty white Canadian who currently has a bright red allergic reaction outbreak on her face, I’ve been eating my body weight in pastries everyday and my style is not comparable. The fact that I was comparing snuck in quietly. I didn’t become painfully aware until I was FaceTiming my boyfriend and staring in slight horror at his Sports Illustrated calendar in the background. And then my mind just flew knowing that I will never look like that, my boobs will never be that perky, my thighs may never be that toned, I will never be that tanned, etc., etc. And because timing is a bitch, here I was the next morning listening to the song "Trumpets" by Jason Derulo at the gym. When the line “every time that you get undressed I hear symphonies in my head” and all that came to mind was “yeah effing right.” And that’s when I stopped, stepped back and legitimately began to process the dark path my brain has been on that led to boarding my one way bus to pity land. But God forbid I even speak about it out loud because that would emulate vulnerability, and that’s not okay, is it?

 

If you have stuck with me thus far and you can relate then I need you to know that you are human and I get you more than you can comprehend. Comparison is natural, but deadly. You will always be your own worst critic. But what if you were also your own cheerleader? Society has this weird way of making us think that it’s not okay to cheer ourselves on, or to see the best qualities in ourselves. But what if suddenly that’s exactly what we all did? Just imagine how the narrative would change.

 

I saw a quote today that read something like this “just because you don’t look like somebody that you think is attractive, doesn’t mean you aren’t attractive. Girl, flowers are beautiful, but so are Christmas lights and they look nothing alike.”

 

To the girl reading this who is confident and secure in who she is but is still faced with insecurities, I get you. To the girl who struggles everyday with comparison when she looks in the mirror or opens up her Instagram, I totally relate to you. To the girl who feels completely and certifiably inadequate, I know you. Girl, you are not alone. We board the bus together, but the best news is that the ticket is not one-way. There’s a return ticket with your name on it and it’s ready to take you to a place of security, worthiness and self love. You might not be a flower, you might not be a Christmas light, you might actually be a damn butterfly, and you are incredible! How could you possibly fly and see the world for what it is if you were a flower or a Christmas light? You are unique and important. Hell, I don’t care who you are, what shape you are, or how you dress, you’re the prettiest butterfly there is because you are you! So be you. Change the world. Make a difference. Be the absolute best version of yourself you can be. Most importantly, be your own cheerleader. Who knows, you could start a squad.

 

And for the record, if your man doesn’t hear symphonies in his head every time you get undressed, you should probably ditch him…. There’s a man out there who will hear symphonies, and trumpets, and a whole orchestra playing just for you.