Clown Feet?

I asked Derek if my feet looked ridiculously large compared to the rest of me.

“No,” he said. “That’s your one for today.”

He means that I put myself down too much. Which I do. It’s been a problem since I was a little girl.

I know it’s annoying, but I kind of can’t help it.

I’m 8 1/2. Most women my height are like a 6. My mother was. My stepmother is. Marla’s feet are so small she can’t find adult sizes.

I’m looking at them now and to me, they look huge.

I used to be a 7 1/2. Then I had Aislyn, went up to 8. Then last year, for no reason at all, suddenly, 8 1/2. Most women who are a 9 are self-conscious of their feet, regardless of their height. I’ve had to buy shoes in a 9. I am 5’1.

Go ahead, you can say it. I’m picking myself apart. It’s what my mother did to me, too. My weight, my hair, my skin. Years of therapy have not changed it, except that I am aware of it, and inconsistently make an effort to stop when I catch myself.

No one wants to hear about my feet, I know, I get it. But, you know, you can always just not read it.

I know there’s a way to reprogram your brain to think more positively and change your behaviors. It has to do with neural pathways. If I keep stopping myself from this self-loathing nonsense, and replace it with something better, eventually it will stop and the better thoughts will come automatically.

Okay then. I am a beautiful woman, inside and out. How’s that, better?

Why do I harp on this subject? Because I know I am smart. I know I’m a good writer. I know I am funny at least sometimes. Those things have never been the problem.

I realize it’s about letting go of the past and accepting responsibility for my actions (or inactions). It’s about taking charge of my life and making the changes I want so that I no longer suffer from this messed up self-image. Nobody else can do it for me.

It’s almost like, my mom was a hypochondriac, right? So most of her ailments were in her head.

It’s kind of the same thing with me. All these supposed flaws and imperfections…probably only I see them.

I’m not saying I’m perfect. Of course not. But I have enough to be grateful for. I must.

I feel guilty that this whole post has been about my feet. I will try to be more fascinating later. Have a good morning, friends. Thanks for reading. ❤️ ♥️ 💜

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