When do you enter it?
When do you realise that you are actually boring? The thought of trying something new is met
with a feeling of abject dread at missing Dancing with the Stars? I can’t possibly venture out on a Wednesday! Excuses that keep us in the walled prison of
this ‘comfort zone’.
Well, let me tell you, in the last few months, I have well
and truly driven a Range Rover through these walls like a Bogan on crack. My lounge room has been decimated and I have
a car bonnet as a coffee table (it’s a metaphor people; bear with me!).
I have challenged myself more in the last 6 months than I
probably have in the last 16 years! I
seem to have thrown out my ‘don’t try it – you’ll only draw attention to
yourself and everyone will laugh at you when you fall over and flash your
sensible kickers’ attitude along with my cardigans. I know I there is one person mainly
responsible for this change in my life – let’s call him Ralph (mainly because
that’s his name!). Now I know that
self-worth and self-esteem is and inside job and not to be left for others to
validate, but can I just point out, that when you are made to feel
unattractive, over weight and so far from sexy you would need a map of the
galaxy and a year’s worth of rations to get there, when someone ACTUALLY sees
you for the person that you are, nurtures you and gives you more love and
heeling than you imagined possible, I guess this magical quality called
‘confidence’ appears.
Do you know how many years I have stood on the beach,
longing to jump into the waves; but was stopped by being told that I would be ruining
stranger’s childhoods by subjecting them to a glimpse of my cellulite? I was told to ‘pull myself together’ if I
dared to reach for the products on the top shelf in the Supermarket and my
jeans should momentarily part ways with my shirt – as if the sight of my Mummy
Tummy would immediately turn ALL the milk sour and cause an outrage in our
suburb! The looks of distain and ‘are
you wearing THAT?’ when I had spent time and effort trying to put an outfit
together. You see, all of these
experiences change a person. The small
creature that IS a woman’s confidence is a very fragile being. It needs to be nurtured, loved and
grown. Once a woman has confidence, it
truly is a magical thing to behold - probably the most sexy thing in the world. But if this tiny glimmer of confidence is
squashed, so is her spirit.
I’m not talking empty compliments (although it took me AGES
to be able to accept one of these too) and if there is one thing I want to pass
on to my daughter is the ability to accept a compliment with grace and
gratitude. I will no longer blush and
look at my feet and make an off the cuff, derogatory comment when being given a
compliment (i.e. ‘oh, this old thing?’ ‘It’s
only from Kmart!’ or ‘thanks, but I’m not really’); I shall meet their gaze,
smile and own that shit with a beaming ‘Thank you!’ (Bloody way harder than it sounds, if I’m
honest – but I’m a work in progress!)
I genuinely am trying not to look around the beach any
longer as I drop my sarong to dance into the crashing waves. I am trying to actually LOOK at myself in the
mirror when the hairdresser shows me my new hairstyle. I am trying to enjoy moments for me, rather
than worry about what the complete stranger on the park bench is thinking about
me. Do I really care what the snooty
looking blonde woman sat at the bar thinks about my muffin top? Why should I let her opinion stop me from
living in the moment and gyrating and laughing along with Ralph in the Bar? Should I care that she is ‘tutting’ as Ralph
tries out his best ‘Magic Mike’ moves on me (in PUBLIC!)? Someone very wise once said ‘other people’s
opinions of you is none of your business’ and how true is that? Opinions are like arseholes – everyone has
one and as long as I’m not a murderer or harming puppies, should it really be
of anyone’s concern if my tummy continues to wobble after the music stops? Maybe she’s jealous? Maybe to her it looks like I am having the
time of my life! Being rubbed up against
by a hunky man who wants to take me home and ravish me and she’s sat, having a
white wine with Geoff from Accounts and is going home to a microwaved meal for
one and her cats? Really – who are we to
judge OR be judged?
I’ll admit to being a ‘confidence novice’. On the confidence scale, mine is gathering
momentum slowly (like a dust bunny behind the sofa). But now, I (shock horror!) don’t always take
a cardigan with me to cover my tuck shop arms – sometimes I let them flap free
when I drive my convertible (like spaniel’s ears in the wind). Sometimes, I buy myself flowers and smile at
strangers. After the initial shock and
internal weighing-up of whether or not I’m a mass murderer, sometimes, people
even smile back! I’ve been known to
smile and say Hello to my neighbours and this Summer I vow to leave my towel more
than 4 feet from the ocean’s edge and I will run towards the ocean with my
Bingo Wings flapping and my Mum Tum dancing along to its own internal beat
because – I bloody well can! Nobody will die from a glimpse of my stretch
marked thighs. I am not a threat to
national security – nor will I ruin anyone’s childhoods! And secretly, I bet there’ll be 3 or more
Mums, hiding behind their towels with their wide-brimmed hats and Factor 50
wishing that they were as brave as me!
