So if you’re a regular reader of my blog you’ll know that I’m a hair friendly girl. Unshaven arm pits and unshaven legs. Early December I spoke about my conundrum: To shave or not to shave, that was the question. And so far, I haven’t told you whether I did or not. (Thank you to those of you that left comments for me, showing your support and sharing your kind words. It was very much appreciated.)
I was planning on updating at some point on this topic, but I’ve been spurred into action by a comment left by Florida Dom on my 2008 Fave HNT post asking whether I decided to shave or not.
So, did I? Simply put, yes. My aunty was coming to visit December 21st and I had already decided that I wanted to shave. And I figured, well I may as well do it before she arrives.
This was something that I seriously thought about before doing. It definitely wasn’t a situation where I woke up one morning and thought “why don’t I shave today?” I debated all the reasons in my head, the for and against of both shaving and staying natural. I spoke with Daddy about it and He said it was up to me and that He would be happy with either way I went. He also reminded me that it was just hair and that if I decided to shave and then changed my mind, it was as easy as growing it back.
I made my decision to shave, not based on anything else but what I felt and what I felt I needed. You may have read my post "I'm working on it" (if you haven’t and you would like to fully understand where I’m coming from, then go do so now. This next part will make more sense after you read it).
Okay, so you went back and read it if you hadn’t already? Good. I shaved because I wanted to. I’m changing and I’m growing as a person. And I needed a change.
Having shaved legs for the first time in almost 18months was strange. That feeling you have after you shave your legs, the sensitivity, I’ve never liked that feeling. Especially in winter when I used to go to bed, I hated feeling the sheets and blankets on my bare legs; it was just annoying to me. So that feeling was something I had to get used to again. Granted I’ve shaved in summer so that’s been a plus.
I didn’t just shave my legs though. No, I went the whole hog and shaved under my arms too. Umm…weird. I don’t know if any of you have experienced this, but I hadn’t shaved for almost a whole year. You get so used to looking at your hair (at least I did), that after I had shaved it off and lifted my arms while looking in the mirror it was an odd sight. And just sitting here thinking about the difference between having hair and not having hair, I actually miss playing with it. I’d mindlessly play with my underarm hair or touch my legs to feel it.
Okay, so what are my thoughts now? Am I still shaving or was it just a ‘fad’? I’m still shaving. In fact, I’m maintaining (feel free to gasp in shock lol). I shave my legs everyday in the shower to keep that silky smooth feel to them. A couple of times I’ve thought about leaving them go another day or two, and then I think of all the extra time I would have to spend shaving (because the hairs would be longer) and I think “Fuck that, I’ll do it now”.
Under my arms, I haven’t done in about a week. Why? Well that’s where the problems come into play. I previously mentioned that there were medical reasons that were partly why I wasn’t shaving. I had a growth under my arm a while back. It ended up at the point where I was flat out doing anything with that arm because of how sore it was. The doctor couldn’t tell me what it was and everything I used to try & get rid of it wasn’t working. I opted to have it cut out and tested. The tests came back negative…I still don’t know what it was. This however, has left me with a rather large and bumpy scar in the crease under my arm. This is what makes it so goddamn hard to shave now. I have to be extremely gentle when shaving so I don’t cut myself. As well as this, the hairs catch in the razor and pull the skin (even with new blades), which causes me to wince in pain. Shaving my legs is fine, but shaving under my arms is not a pleasant experience. I, in fact, dread it.
Mum and I were talking about my hair (or lack thereof) when I was back home. It wasn’t until she saw my scar that she really understood why I don’t like shaving under my arms. That and a bit of a chat and (I think) she realises now that it doesn’t matter if I’m hairy or not.
There’s only one other thing that I’m not liking about being shaved…perspiration. Yep, I’m sweating way more now than what I used to when I was hairy. That, I do not like at all.
So am I going to stay shaved? Yes, for the moment I am. I’m enjoying having smooth, hairless legs. And another plus is that when I go out and other people look at me, I know they’re not looking because I’m a hair-friendly girl. The inner fat girl voice says they’re looking at me, judging me, still not seeing my beauty. She soon shuts up when the inner hot girl (who is speaking up a lot more these days) says: “Fuck off; they’re looking ‘cause she’s smokin’ hot in her mini skirt. Damn girl, work those legs!”
For the moment, I’m happy working my shaved legs ;-)
I have changed.
My thoughts have changed.
More specifically, my thoughts about myself have changed.
I am no longer afraid to look in the mirror. I am no longer afraid to catch a glimpse of myself in a store window. I don’t shy away from looking at myself. In fact, I take great advantage of our bathroom mirror while washing my hands after a visit to the loo, or when I’m getting dressed. And I’m not ashamed to admit that in that way, I’m a little vain :-)
How I look at and think about myself now is how I always believed I should, but never did. I was the fat kid growing up. I was the fat best friend of the most popular girl in school. I look back on photos of me as a kid and although I don’t cringe, one of the first things I take note of is my weight. And it’s not just childhood photos.
Prime example: The first year I got a job (18yrs) was the first year I didn’t have to borrow money to buy anyone Christmas presents. Boy, was that an achievement. I wanted something special, something meaningful, and something that would be remembered for awhile to come. I decided I wanted to get some professional photos taken of me. I organised it all, including getting my best friend to take me and stay/help throughout, because I didn’t have my licence yet (let alone my own car). She was even nice enough later to come pick me up and come over with me to decide which ones I wanted to buy for the family. I was so organised that when I paid for it, I had a grand total of $5 left in my account (okay, so I was on my way to really being organised, but at least I didn’t have to ask my friend for money).
Anyway, I’m getting off track. They were a hit Christmas Day and they all loved their presents (each of them received a different photo I’d picked out especially). Two of these photos are still hanging on the wall at mum’s. Which leads me to why I started this (longer-than expected) example. I noticed them on the wall when I was back home for Christmas a couple of weeks ago. I took one look and screwed my nose up “Eww….fat photos!” I cringed. I wasn’t my heaviest when those photos were taken (just over 4 years ago), but they’re still fat photos to me. (Interestingly enough, the one I gave mum, which she keeps in her bedroom, was/is my favourite from all the photos taken. This one photo I don’t see and think I’m fat, nor do I cringe. Nope, not with this one. I look at it and all I do is smile and think ‘I really am beautiful’. It is one of those few photos taken over my life that I love to my core).
Okay, so I still have what I call fat photos. I still look at them and cringe. But it is my hope that one day I can look at these and not. That one day I’ll see them and I won’t hate the person looking back at me. I still have fat photos because I still hate myself for allowing my weight to get where it was. I still hate myself for allowing my health to get to the point it was.
I’m learning to love myself, and I think I do a little better each day. That portion of me that loathes how easy it was to be in denial about such an important problem, is shrinking. Just as that portion of me that loves how much I’ve taken control of this problem, is expanding.
I’m working on it. I’m working on treating myself better, and being a better me.
There have been certain points during my weight loss that I consider to be mini goals. These are personal goals. But these are different from my goals of weighing a certain amount. I’m sure there are some that I’m not even aware of, but these are the ones I am.
- Fitting into a pair of denim shorts that I couldn’t wear because they were too tight (even better that when I thought to try them on, they didn’t just fit, they were considerably loose).
- Fitting into a funky & long denim skirt that had long since been too small because of my chunky thighs. After wearing it for the last time (comfortably) about 6 or 7 years ago, managing to get it over my thighs was more than a joyous occasion.
- Trying on a very nice top of mine that I hadn’t even worn in public, and realising I was swimming in it. This was a sad moment for me.
- Trying on yet another top (night-wear, black & flow-y with rhinestones and cleavage friendly) and desperately realising that never again would I wear this top I loved so much. A top that I couldn’t salvage by taking it in because it was just too damn big on me. This was more of a loss than the previous one. Seriously, it’s hot, and I can’t wear it any more! It’s still hanging in my wardrobe. As is the one previously mentioned.
- Buying a denim mini skirt (or a mini-skirt of any sort for that matter) that fit me and I looked good in. This is my favourite piece of clothing.
- Pulling up at a set of lights and looking down at my feet, noticing how much smaller my thighs were.
- Going back home for Christmas and trying on my semi-formal dresses (15yrs) and my formal (prom) outfit (17yrs) (top and skirt) was another one of these moments. My first semi-formal dress (with tags still attached) I slipped on, looked in the mirror and just beamed. It’s not the nicest of dresses, but this was the one I first chose and then went with another because a) it was a nicer colour and b) it hid my fat better. I looked at the size tag and my jaw dropped in shock. “Was I really that big at 15?” A smile for where I am today, and an ache in my heart for where I was then. A smile for the person I am today, and that ache for who I was then.
- My second semi-formal dress, although as nice as the day I bought it, I was disappointed that it hid my shape. (Yeah go figure, back then it did just what I wanted it to, now…not so much). Although maybe this one I could get taken in.
- My formal outfit was next. It wasn’t until I got my professional photo’s back after formal that I realised (but stuck my head in the sand about) how unflattering it made me look. The photos were taken and my top had bunched up under my boobs, and as any big girl knows, this is not a flattering look. My mum even said (when she first saw the photos) “Oh he (the photographer) should have noticed that and told you to fix it up”. (I love my mum, and I never took this as an insult or anything like that, I still don’t. I understand wholly what she meant when she said it). I buried my head in the sand thinking “yeah he should have” while looking at every other part of the photo and then looking away. “If it wasn’t for that part, I’d look beautiful” was my line of thinking. Anyway, 5yrs down the track, I look at the size tag, surprised it’s the same size I am now (even though I’m 7kg lighter now) and I try it on. The first thing I look at is my boobs. “Holy shit have they shrunk!” (smiles) Next my torso area. “Hang on, it’s loose around there. I distinctly remember having to hold my stomach muscles in when I sat down, but now I don’t have to”. Next was how pretty it was, well it still is. Only been worn once. It really is a lovely outfit. Pretty mauve colour, chiffon on the outside. Ahh…the memories :-)
- And that brings me to my latest mini goal. Tonight I was in the bathroom getting changed when I looked in the mirror at my torso. “No fucking way! There is no fucking way! I must be seeing things. I have to be!” Switch on the light. Fluorescent public changing room light, my long-time foe, we meet again. I looked closer, hoping and wishing that I wasn’t just seeing things; and for once my enemy would do me good not harm. For tonight, I, for the first time ever (that I can remember) have a torso line! (Can I hear the applause?)
