Women, worrying and weight

If you follow me on Twitter or read either of my other blogs, you’ll know that I have been going to Slimming World since January.

I like Slimming World. I like the plan itself, which seems to be based around health rather than what makes you lose weight quickly. I like the recipes. I like the support from my eternally wonderful consultant Cathy. I like, obviously, that I’ve lost 2.5 stone and not once been hungry. But mostly, I like the people.

One woman from group, J, follows and is followed by me on Twitter. She has recently come back to group after leaving to have a baby, and is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. Tall with curves like a racetrack, she has incredible copper hair, streaked with gold, that falls down her back in thick, gleaming waves. Her skin is pale and perfect, her wide eyes are the colour of deep pools in spring and whilst she is built like a Valkyrie she is amazingly graceful. She is also a well respected University lecturer and one of the kindest people I know.

As you may be able to tell from the above paragraph, I’m slightly awed by her. The first time I saw her, I was genuinely open mouthed. She is stunning. And I’m slightly stunned that, as weeks have gone by, she’s become one of my closest friends at group.

J tweeted last night that she had been to the gym. I tweeted something along the lines of that being fantastic (she's said before that she finds it hard to get out of the house so I thought a bit of encouragement would be nice) and received a reply a few minutes later that surprised me. She said she felt really, really sad.

74 direct messages later...I’m reminded once again by how much women can hurt over how they look.

J put on a lot of weight when she had a baby. However, she is all in proportion. Tall, broad shouldered and broad hipped, her waist is still tiny. She is magnificent and imposing. I want to put her in armour and plait her hair and send her into battle with a sword and a really big horse.

She doesn’t see that, though. She sees herself as having horrid arms, as being the biggest one at the gym, as not being able to taken her jacket off because of her “flabby arms” and as having cellulite so bad that you can see it through her jogging bottoms.

I sent her a string of messages and I made her cry (I think/hope in a good way). I told her how beautiful I thought she was, and that she was the one of the nicest women I know. I didn’t exactly say everything I said about her above because, let’s face it, it’s a bit weird. But I told her that I thought she was gorgeous. And what did she say back?

“You are utterly beautiful”

Me? Utterly beautiful?

I look in the mirror in my underwear and hate everything I see. I occasionally cry over how vile I am. I panic that I am 2.5 stone lighter than I was in January, yet I still look this disgusting — how bad did I look before? No matter what I wear, I think I look horrid.

And yet J, this woman who I think is practically on par with a goddess, thinks I look utterly beautiful. And she thinks she looks hideous.

...

There’s a whole lot wrong with how woman see themselves. I have no idea how to go about fixing it.