One Guilty Gal-Hopefully Not For Long
A Guilty Pleasure, is something one enjoys and considers pleasurable despite feeling guilt for enjoying it.
Predictable, unrealistic storylines. I love them in a cheap book or a cheesy Hallmark movie that always wraps up the plot nicely with a big shiny bow. I immensely enjoy the tried and true story tellers like Emerson, Austen, Hemingway and King but sometimes I need a little cheesy in my life. It puts a stupid little smile on my face for a few hours and I thoroughly enjoy them.
There are other things I need in my life at times and derive the silliest of happy moments from. Why I cannot tell you but I cannot help but notice that some things sit right with my soul.
Getting kisses from dogs, enjoying carbs, lip biting, losing myself in volunteering, people watching, old movies and wonderful musicals, loud music, writing until three in the morning, getting goosebumps from a beautifully placed kiss, laughing with strangers, Facebook stalking the Dalai Lama, and being sarcastic all should make me feel a little tinge of guilt.
Those are things I enjoy. I rarely feel guilty about indulging in those treats when I do. Maybe I should, but I don't. There is only one real guilty pleasure I have, that I claim and (rarely) admit.
Not that I believe I am necessarily ugly. I am still in the process of learning to love myself and my body.
My body type is not loved by all, but to be fair in this unfair world nobodys body type is loved by everybody.
But there's a lot of little things on this big old body of mine that add up to being unattractive at least according to societys standards.
Being fat. Facial hair (thanks PCOS). Hairy arms. Oily skin. Acne. Kinky hair. Spaced teeth. Loud mouth.
Those descriptions do not define me in my entirety but they are a part of me. Parts people see first and judge.
When I went out to eat with friends I would order a salad or something small, no matter how hungry I was. I did not want to embarrass them with my eating habits.
The first few times, I met my friends boyfriends, husbands, families, friends, I always toned down me. I was quieter, more agreeable, not as weird, hid my freak and geek flag, and kept my opinionated mouth shut because I felt I would disservice my friendship if I inadvertently exposed the feminist, equal rights supporting, hippie chick I was. I shared little and offered no opinions, because I thought that was polite.
I always carry a razor in my makeup bag, because stubble. If I ever agreed to stay the night at a friends house you have to understand I was the first one up so I could run to the bathroom and tweeze or shave what I needed to. Because, I did not want offend them with how I look in the morning.
Afraid in a sense they would mock me or be disgusted with me and I would be left with a feeling that I was indeed the gross freak as I had feared for so long and they would want nothing to do with me.
For a long time, I felt a certain unspoken pressure that I must look presentable. That I must have perfectly styled hair, beautiful make up, a lovely outfit that helps deflect from the disgusting blob I truly am.
So I would not offend anyone.
Sad, I know. I felt I needed to present myself in a certain way to show others that I was not completely worthless, useless or disgusting.
If I showed effort that I wanted to fit in, that I wanted to be pretty, that I could make repentance with my cute shoes and matching purse, nodding head and mouth sewed shut I might have a shot at being liked, at being accepted, and being attractive.
But that wasn't me. That isn't me.
I am the kind of woman who is loud and sarcastic. Blunt. I enjoy skirts when I am feeling fancy but otherwise give me capris and flip flops.
There is nothing wrong with wearing makeup, dressing cute, accessorizing like it's nobody's business, having the coolest jewelry, and the trendiest hair-if you are doing it because you want to, because you enjoy it, because it makes you feel better.
You should never do it because you feel pressured to do so. You should never alter yourself to be considered 'acceptable' in society, amongst family, friends, co-workers and strangers. If you cave to other peoples demands or preferences of you then you lose yourself, you will find yourself unhappy and constantly fearful of revealing who you truly are.
That is not living, that is lying. To others in a sense but mostly to yourself. It is telling you that you are not good enough, you are not pretty enough, you are not worthy enough to be yourself around others. And that is a downright lie.
You, with all your flaws, mistakes, inconsistencies, are you. You need to make no apologies, no concessions, no alterations to fit into somebodys agenda. The people who deserve to be in your life will love you and accept you for who you are inside and out. They will want the best for you and most importantly they will want to see you happy and never ask you to tear down, hide or alter who you are.
I find myself enjoying my ugly in the late night or early morning. When I am by myself. When I am comfortable in wearing shorts and tank tops, having messy hair, no make up and yes a five o clock shadow.
When I am basking in my ugly, I find myself content to be loud or quiet, and to think about things I rarely mention to other people. My ridiculous desire to be a mother, how I both hate and love exercising, how I really, really, really want a disgustingly delicious whopper but I will resist because I know myself and my limits. I can write my poetry and prose. Sing off key and dance like a loon in this raw state of being me, being the me I hide from other people because I feel too ugly, too real, too much in this state.
My guilty pleasure is being myself. My unaltered, unchanged, unedited self, in the early morning before I tweeze, shave, make up, and go into the world. Or late at night when I wipe off the facade of the day, when I peel off the push up bra and reach for the too big tee and ratty capris and just take in the comfort that is me, accepting me.
I have worked hard on loving who I am. I have kicked rude and negative people out of my life. I have learned to love myself. I am hoping one day that I will not consider it a guilty pleasure to accept myself but rather simply a pleasure and realize how beautiful I am because I overcame negative thinking, threw out the myth and misconception that there is only one type of beauty and dared to be myself in a world that is always trying to change me.
This has been a Sunday Confession with the one, the only, More Than Cheese And Beer. If you have not yet checked out her Guilty Pleasures yet, you should do yourself a favor and do so. While you are there check out the other bloggers who joined in this Sunday.