As I sat in front of my computer to organize photos and files that have been long overdue, I scanned some old and new photos of myself. I saw a beautiful woman years ago and i thought about all the insecurities I had. I always felt so unworthy of so much. I never felt pretty enough, even though so many people told me so. There was always extreme self-consciousness. I compared them to newer photos of myself. I realized I hadn't changed much. Though I did look a lot happier years ago. At least, the pictures reflected a level of honesty that the newer pictures didn't. When I was younger I looked forward to the days I’d be older. I thought about being a woman and feeling fabulous about myself. I realized now, the older I get, the more insecure I am. My legs were never too big. Why did I obsess over exercising so much? My arms have always looked pretty good. Why have I always hid them so much? Recently I asked someone close to me to take some pictures of me. I was feeling self conscious and looking in a mirror wasn't enough. I asked for a few angle pictures so I could examine myself from the outside. I took one look at the shots and I quickly hated myself. I put my phone away and didn't even look at it again. I figured, If I just didn't look I wouldn't feel so insecure. It worked for a little while. Days later I was looking through my cellphone and I came across those pictures. I saw how skinny I looked. My arms were not big. My belly was flat. My body looked in shape. But there was still something that was missing. I still didn't like it. I wondered, were my insecurities just self-consciousness or was it far more than that? Had I reached a level that I could no longer control? Did I have an eating disorder?
A few days later, I was skimming through my magazines. The many subscriptions I had. I came across a famous celebrity, truly known for not really caring much about what people think of her. She wasn’t super skinny. She was happy with her curves and wasn't afraid to say it. While her pictures online and her image on live television seemed very real, this ad of her didn't. I looked through the magazine twice before I even realized it was her. Her beautiful imperfections were gone, the ones that not even the best tv lighting could remove. Her legs were covered in makeup and her skin seemed perfect. Perfect to the point where it wasn't. It wasn't her. In fact, no one looks like that. I then continued to look at my other magazines. I began to compare live video footage of celebrities, models, and stars and I realized they are just normal people. They look like me. They have flaws like me. They have insecurities like me. So why on earth had I been so self-conscious half my life? How did I allow photoshop so deeply into my life to the point of victimizing myself into a reality that was nothing but a facade?
I took away the magazines from beside my home work out station. I unsubscribed myself from emails and newsletters. I began to look away for a while at supermarkets when I saw the magazines. Now I look at them and opt for the recipe booklets. Those are truly fulfilling.