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I've been keeping this blog since 2010 and for the last four years have been snapping photos of myself in sexy swimwear and luscious lingerie however none of those photos have made it onto the blog until this week. During this time my weight has been as low as 43kg and peaked at 57kg last year when I decided that enough was enough, the NZ Blood Service were not going to take a donation from me no matter that I finally weighed more than the 50kg minimum, and it was time to lose the extra pounds sitting on my belly and thighs.
I have few inhibitions — you might be able to tell just from a reading a few posts on this blog — and years of performing on-stage clad in revealing costumes and in skin-tight clothes in the dance studio means that public display of shape and flesh doesn't really bother me. But the world can be a judgmental place and the anonymity of the internet can let the trolls out in ways that aren't considered decent or polite in normal settings. Images that are published will never truly disappear so I've held back because once I send photos out they'll be there to stay and can I really live with people seeing photos of my imperfect self?
At the end of the day the worse judge of all is me. When I look at myself I notice the stretch marks that crease my ass, the cellulite on my thighs, the piggy dinner I just ate three helpings of. Given that the extent of the tinkering I choose to do on my photos is applying filters and adjustments to correct poor lighting and bad framing, the dishonesty of 'photoshopping' to make my image match the ideal is not at all appealing. I'd concluded it was better not to publish.
I think we all suffer dysmorphia to some extent where what we perceive in the mirror is not the reality and I am certainly no different. The human brain works in funny ways because when I look down at my belly I see blubber which I know from the photos, the sideways view in the mirror and in the fact that I still fit all my clothes, cannot be the reality. Sure, I could lose another inch and flatten down to my twenty-something abdomen but that girl who ate and didn't put on weight and couldn't find adult pants that sat right wasn't consistently fit. She was enviable but not admirable.
In preparing for this article I looked at some of the photos that haven't made it here and what I realised is that they weren't terrible: not the skinny but un-toned at 31 nor the more voluptuous version at 34. But of all the photos I liked the ones from this week best and although my fitness journey is ongoing, as is my body-shape journey, what I see reflected in the photos is a story about the hours of exercise, the weeks of diligently recording my food intake and controlling the calories to get back to 50kgs, and the persistence with my all-over body skincare.
I grant this isn't a heroic story about someone who has lost 50kg of weight and turned their life significantly around. There are many of those stories and I respect the men and women who overcome adversity or illness to progress themselves to healthy weights and healthy living but just because this isn't heroic doesn't mean it comes easily or effortlessly.
We make choices everyday: whether to run, to go to fitness class, to eat the cake or drink that wine. I make choices everyday and sometimes they include drinking that wine and I definitely eat the New York baked cheesecake. I also make the choice to go to yoga, to turn on my Kinect and dance off some calories, and I have the mini-size can of coke.
A couple of my friends were discussing this blog over dinner a few months ago and we talked about whether I would feature any bikini shots. Lou said I shouldn't and it was unnecessary whereas Tess said "if you have the body, flaunt it." I will never be a lingerie supermodel: my height alone stands in my way, nevermind that I am getting long in the tooth for that kind of thing. But at 36, I think I'm not in too bad a shape for my age.
I realise that when I judge myself poorly against the morass of images out there from barely clad rockstars, movie stars with cut muscles and Victoria Secrets models, that they make their living from looking good and can spend hours and money working on their physique in ways that are unnecessary for someone who makes her main crust from sitting in meetings and writing documents. My photos are un-doctored: there's no elongating my thighs and trimming my waist. My life is reflected in this body: it has never been trimmed by the surgeon's knife or the excess vacuumed out. Whatever gain or loss, definition and shape has been from conscious choice and planning. This is me as I am.
So if not now, when? Will there be a time when I think, that's perfect? No, there won't be. True fitness is about progress and maintenance; It's not preparation for that big show or single photoshoot; it's about living everyday and what looks good to one person is not the same as another. Even my view of the ideal body has changed over the years: when I was a dancer it was much different to one I strive for now.
Part of my clothing and style and lifestyle journey includes my large collection of swimwear and lingerie. So here's me sharing - and you can probably expect to see more of me in future.
I confess that I prefer to have the imperfections of my face covered up but a great number of photos on this blog are taken with minimal and often no makeup. Under normal conditions I'm fortunate to have reasonably easy-care skin but as I discussed with my partner the other day, there are times when it can become very problematic.
The conversation arose when he was looking through some of our old photos and happened on a few taken eleven years ago when we first got together. "Gosh, I didn't realise at the time but your skin was quite pimply back then," he said. I rolled my eyes and replied that I had mentioned on a number of occasions that my major bipolar episodes seemed to also display itself with an acne break out and that this last episode had been no exception. "Do you really mean to say you didn't notice?" Apparently not. Love is blind.
I realise that my skin requires even more care and consideration as I get older. Time is taking its toll not least of which is on my skin's ability to repair and therefore not leave long-lasting reminders of breakouts. So when my mood started to fall and my skin started to react to whatever imbalances had started in my body, I promptly had my GP prescribe me the pill. After four years, my chemistry is reasonably stable and I've come off it and this time (fingers-crossed) it looks like my own body's ability to weather the internal hormonal storm is back in place.
About six years ago, a mole had halo-ed on my right cheek. As I was already going under the knife to have a lymph node removed, the surgeon suggested that we remove the mole at the same time. Although both the node and the mole had had active cells, they were thankfully benign. He did an excellent job: the scar is barely noticeable. I did my bit too taping, oiling and rubbing that scar so it's a fairly malleable part of the fabric of my face.
What woke such focus when it comes to my skin was an episode of Country Calendar that I sat through when I was about sixteen. The lady being featured was asked what she regretted and she mentioned that she wished she'd started looking after her skin when she was much younger. The lesson stuck and I have duly endeavored to keep the largest organ on my body in a healthy state. I'm particularly diligent about cleansing and moisturising not just my face but my whole body.
In today's environment, between the pollutants in the air, the drying air-conditioning systems, and the harsh sun we certainly put our skin through a lot. Where in the past we may have expected to live in it no more than to a ripe forty-something years, these days we could expect to reach close to three digits. Although I've no particular ambition to live another thirty-five years, if I do, I want to be in good shape when I get there.
When I look at my bare face, I see the surgery scar, the acne blemishes, the sunspots from the summer I foolishly decided to see how tan I can get. I also see the sag beginning and my particular 'signs of aging' with pores that are enlarged. But all in all I think I'm reasonably happy with how it's looking. Certainly, the other night when I took a bunch of pictures for a workshop I only bothered with some eyeliner and left the rest au naturale.
I guess what I'm saying is that effort is expended to look good with or without makeup.
Which leads me to now and my 36th birthday. As part of my birthday treats, I booked in for some beauty treatments at a Nelson salon. Although I'd been keen to try microdermabrasion, the lady talked me into a peel instead. I was reasonably pleased with the result, although I wouldn't gush in the way she was doing that my skin was amazing afterward. It did feel more complete than my standard shower exfoliation routine.
As part of my birthday review I've introduced a serum to my facial skincare routine and this year have begun to use caffeine-imbued firming body lotions to help with the inevitable onset of cellulite. These things cannot hold back time or undo what's already been done but I believe that as long as I continue to care for and protect my skin, I will continue to be comfortable in it.
