Dying for perfection

Summer is almost over, the third Summer since I’ve been a Mummy for and I still haven’t quite done it, I’ve lost another stone but I still haven’t achieved my pre-Frankie weight. Despite all my best efforts (excluding the BBQs and cider of the summer) I still have bingo wings, a pouch and cellulite on the back of my legs. I’ve found happiness in the gym, a balance in my food but I still look nothing like the ‘mum models’ that I adore to stalk on social media.

I was a size 8 before having Frankie and I can still get in my size 10 jeans but I’ve accepted that unless I overhaul my life on a day-to-day basis, stop putting in extra turkey dinosaurs in for myself or slurp shakes for breakfast, lunch and dinner I am going to remain a size 12. I am a UK average size but if you do my BMI based on my weight and height, I sit on normal petering on ‘obese’. I’ll pick reduced fat cheese on my Dominoes order and that makes me feel better about ordering £40 worth of pizza to save 40% then I’ll scroll down my phone through Instagram and see stick thin women munching on an acai bowl or promoting a ‘work from home’ juice diet and feel shit again.

100 years ago you wouldn’t find women apologising for being ‘the wrong size’, having a few extra pounds round their mum pouch and they certainly didn’t scrutinize every line, bump and wrinkle like we do or feel the need to make a comment every time they eat something moderately unhealthy like we feel the need to now such as ‘the diet can start back again on Monday’. They didn’t swap potatoes out for sweet ones or spend £8 on a smashed avocado on rye to make themselves feel better. They had nowhere to tweet it or send it so who cared if a bacon sandwich tastes better but looks shitter anyway?

Every time I take a picture of myself all I see is crows feet and wrinkles looking back at me. A few weeks ago I was mid-discussion with a friend at work talking about considering botox to smooth them out, without realising, two of my directors were listening in they were genuinely shocked and couldn’t wrap their heads around why I would feel the need to ‘correct’ something that was so natural and they both said that laughter lines and lifes lumps and bumps were a lot more attractive than silicone ones.

This week it has been highlighted in the news that a British Mum, Leah Cambridge, travelled to Turkey for ‘Brazilian Bum Lift’ surgery and has lost her life as a result of bodged surgery leaving 3 children without a Mother. Reading that story as a Mum myself broke my heart, in a world of social media and ideology more and more women like Leah Cambridge are seeking perfection.

After reading more into the articles surrounding Leah Cambridge’s death, it seems that foreign clinics thrive on money and the checks to safeguard clinics in the UK which are obviously more expensive, but safer, aren’t done in places such as Turkey or Moscow. Lauren Goodger has come under the most scrutiny for sharing photos on social media of her post-surgery body and she does look good, but it’s very clear that she has had a lot of work done, is that the message we want to send to the children we are raising? Promoting clinics in countries that don’t have the same safety guidelines and safeguarding that the UK does?  The Sun – Dirty equipment and clinics

After looking on the internet at other cases another woman Galina Rakushina, died whilst having surgery in Moscow for a ‘surprise boob job’ for her husband, she gave her life for silicone implants to make her and her husband feel better about her appearance. Galina Rakushina Story – Daily Mirror.

I have friends that have had boob jobs, botox and lip fillers and most of them are happy and feel more confident with the way they now look but it wasn’t a decision they took lightly, they researched into the procedures they were having and made sure that they were absolutely 100% with who they went with. A few of them have been less than happy with their results, one had a boob job a few years ago now and was left in agonizing back pain because she went too big and now is struggling to save for a reduction.

I am in no way against plastic surgery, botox or fillers, or ruling out ever having surgery myself, if we all had the money to perfect our ‘imperfections’ and there was no risks involved, we would all be at it, smoothing down those lines, nipping and tucking at our stomachs and adding a few inches onto our legs. But when does it end? If we all had the money to make ourselves look like every other woman where would our individuality come in? We would all look like Stepford Wives and as highlighted by my Directors that day, we’d have no character to us.

Stories like Leah Cambridge’s sadden me so much and my heart goes out to her family, husband and boys. It’s sad in this day and age that stories like hers are becoming the norm.

The point I am trying to make by writing this, which is extremely unlike anything I’ve written before is to think twice before comparing yourself to every other ‘insta model’ or woman at baby group or whatever! We should all be able to feel happier in our own skins without ‘social media ideology’ drummed down our throats or thinking it’s normal to put ourselves under such risk for a bigger set of boobs.

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