Oh! You pretty things.

Caffeinated, and raring to go, I'm back.

This is a post on self image, and my battle to become accepting of my own..

I have never felt entirely comfortably with the way I look. I have never looked in a mirror and not seen a single flaw. It's something I doubt anyone ever has if I'm honest. I don't like the little pouch of tub around my abdomen, even though I understand it is natural. My nose has always been a little too round, a focal point on my face that I cannot disguise with the highest of contouring expertise. (not mine, I don't have a fucking clue when it comes to makeup) A boy in secondary school made a passing comment about my 'buggy' eyes and ever since I have hated the way they are larger than anything else. My hair is always a little too full bodied, making me feel like it is too loud. My thighs do a strange thing where they separate then collide together again, and my hands are the strangest, podgey cocktail sausage appendages, decorated with eczema for an extra touch. It's safe to say, I've never felt content in my own, pale skin. With that said, the past year I've had a good few days when I've walked into work feeling like a queen. Anyone who follows me on social media will have probably noticed that I have begun to share more of the all important 'sennies' (to anyone who isn't a Yorkshire native, that means selfies)

Prior to 2017 I was very modest in how I dressed and the make up I wore. If I had eyeliner on I felt as though I was wearing a scarlet wig and a catsuit. Lipstick was an absolute no go for me! I was under the impression that anything bolder than a smudge of foundation and mascara would leave me looking like I was attending an audition for Ru Paul's Drag Race. My attire consisted mainly of charity shop blouses and comfy jeans, perhaps a modest summer dress, but nothing that would touch the skin nor be above the knee. This year, enough was enough! It was the year for a new and improved Soph. By all means I do not think a person should ever be judged by the way they look, but sometimes we all need that confidence boost. The ability to strut into the office and know that you look fucking mint. I started shopping, buying outfits that made me feel on edge. It wasn't easy and so many times I changed 4 or 5 times before I headed out for fear people would think I was some narcissistic, delusional fool, but every time I made it out I'd get a compliment and little by little I built myself up. I now can stroll into work wearing a skin tight shirt and pencil skirt and know I look the fucking bomb. I don't put too much stock in relying on others opinions for self validation but in reality, do you ever feel truly astonishing if its not coming from someone else's mouth?

I am guilty of getting excited if I get more than 10 likes on an insta post. Or if people begin commenting on my profile pictures. It is a little pathetic, but hey, I suppose that's they way things are these days. Much in the way that if you were on a hot guys MySpace top 8, you were buzzing about it for days. (for those under 20, MySpace was prehistoric FaceBook, an icon of a simpler time many of us long the revival of) If I'm completely honest, I have never really had much male attention until this year, and the sudden boost of testosterone fuelled approval confused me. It knocked me for six, how had I, dumpy lil' Soph become the object of numerous guys affection? The answer, I started to see myself for who I am, beautiful, intelligent and someone of value. Now I'm not going to kid myself and believe that every guy who asks if I want to go for a beer, or fancy a bite to eat, is infatuated with me. However, I'd like to thank each and every one of you, you have helped me become this confident young woman. The one who is happy to walk into a bar alone to meet friends, who doesn't hide in the back corner of the boozer watching all my friends merrily shake their bums and laugh, now I'm in that circle, usually initiating the chorus of 'Chelsea, Chelsea, I believe!..'

Often I have a meltdown and decide I need to change my image, usually resulting in me sat at the dressing table with a blunt pair of sewing scissors hacking away at my fringe at 1AM, (Yes, I am that meme) or running round to Tescos to get the first box dye I can get my grubby little hands on. This usually leads to me heading over to my best friends house to amend my anxiety fuelled mistake. (She's rather talented) Or I will start hurriedly pulling at my spare wardrobe, finding pieces from almost a decade ago to shake things up, often yielding rather satisfying results and rekindling love for items I had long forgotten.

We all give ourselves such a hard time on our image, forgetting that these beautiful girls you see online (I have many a times gone through friends Tinder accounts and wondered how I had got any matches at all), in bars and even on the bus also feel the same and are probably looking at you, seeing something of yourself they wish they could obtain. It's easy to say love yourself and forget your worries, but it isn't and will never be, that simple. It's the taking the good days and embracing them with open arms, not being afraid to say 'Fuck I look good on that photo' 'cause doll, no one will ever disagree with you. Try looking at yourself naked, and I mean, really look. Look at the beautiful folds, the scars that came from your fondest memories, take them all in and realise how incredible your patchwork of tales, come together to form this tapestry of a fierce warrior. A survivor of modern society. Pick one focal point you love, whether it be a chin dimple, or your ears and build from there. Once you start seeing them, the rest comes with time.

To summarise, I am finally accepting that I am beautiful in my own way, I may have days where I cannot look in a mirror for a full 24 hours because I don't want to pull myself further into despair, but better days come along, I promise.

I fucking love that you've continued to read my rambles, please remember that there will never be another you, 'till next time my loves,
Soph. x