If there is a mirror in the nearby vicinity with it’s reflective face turned to yours truly, chances are I’m casting surreptitious glances it’s way, checking my posture and hair and more than likely whether or not my slightly chubby cheeks and jawline are making my face look as round as I abhor it to look every time I laugh or smile or look down.
I’m self-conscious. I always have been, and I think it’s probably a safe bet that I always will be. I envy the girls that can pull their heads back and turn their necks into layered rolls just for the laughs. I would kill for confidence like that. But, no, I’m constantly trying to make sure that the double chin that has been trying to make a home with me is safely tucked away from judging eyes.
There’s a twinge of guilt for admitting all of this, because I’m afraid I’m coming off as judgmental myself. I am not. So many of the women I find attractive and desirable have traits that I try to hide on myself. I just… don’t like it on myself. It’s kind of like how my younger sister says she wants to look like me and thinks I’m beautiful, but she’s bulimic because she wants to be able to see her bones and thinks that that is what’s beautiful for her. It’s not that she judges me for my lack of a thigh gap, she just doesn’t want one herself.
Do I like what I see when I look in the mirror? Sometimes, honestly. When I’m posed just right and my makeup is done and I’ve created the image I want the world to see. Not many people are aware how bad my self-image is. I mean, I’m a stripper. We’re supposed to think we run this bitch with just our bodies, right? But there are so many things I want to change about myself, but that’s probably a topic for another post on another day.