Fertilehealthy

In one of the best known Afrikaans songs of all time, Sproetjies (a pet name which means “Freckles”), a man meets a little girl with freckles who is crying in the corner of a playground.  He meets her again a few years later, when she’s turned into a lovely young woman.  The third time he sees her, she is dancing on a stage in front of an adoring audience.  On each of these occasions he tells her:

“Sproetjies, darling, you’re gorgeous.  There’s a rainbow in your eyes.  Let me tell you a secret… everybody wants to be like you.”

And every time she answers him:  “I wish that I could see myself through your eyes.”

I really believe that we see a very distorted reflection of ourselves when we look in the mirror.  If you’re anything like me, you’re far too critical.  I have caught myself actively looking for flaws… And when you look that hard, it’s easy to find them.

Of course, none of us are perfect.  We all have flaws.  But we are guilty of linking our intrinsic value to our flaws.

Being fat is huge.  It’s in your face.  You can’t miss it.  And there are those who will argue that women like me feel less-than/uncool/ugly/worthless because of our fat.  I can only agree to a point.  For me it goes much further than that.  I think I’ve had those feelings all my life, even before I was fat.

I remember even at the age of four thinking that I was fat.  I wasn’t.  When I look at pictures of myself at that age, I see a perfectly normal, healthy little girl.  Quite a pretty one at that.  I was big though.  As in tall and well-built.  And I’ll always be that way.  No matter how much I slim down, I will always have broad shoulders, womanly hips and I’ll always be rather tall.

But what I thought about myself when I was four developed into an inferiority complex that has plagued me all my life.  No matter how much I excelled at everything I turned my hand to, I was never comfortable in my own skin.  I wanted to be cool and have cool friends.  I wanted boys to like me.  I could never really manage to pull together the fashions of the day.  I felt odd.

Today I look back and realize that the unhappiest (and most traumatic) period of my life were the years that I tried to conform.  I could never quite get it right.  It came at a terrible personal cost to me, because instead of becoming the best Hanlie that I could be, I became a really third-rate photocopy of who I thought I should be.  I lost touch with myself and stumbled my way through a life that I couldn’t make any sense of.  My fat is actually one of the last vestiges of that life…

The tide started to turn for me when I got divorced in 2000.  I was thirty years old and had no idea who I was and what I wanted to do with my life.  Since then it’s been a voyage of discovery.

I have been so lucky.  At every turn on my journey, the right person for that particular stretch or obstacle would be waiting to help me.  Early in 2001 I met my friend Charlotte.  I had never experienced friendship like this before…  She didn’t just think I was okay to hang out with from time to time, she loved and adored me (the feeling was totally mutual)!  Up to that point I had never experienced such approval from someone.  It took quite a while to get used to the idea that someone so warm, loving and faithful thought that I was special.  I kept thinking “I’m not who she thinks I am”.  

About 5 years ago I met the coolest girl in the whole world, Lizana.  And she wanted to be my friend too!  She seems to think I’m pretty cool too. 

Both these women have done so much to unveil the real Hanlie.  And you know what, I’m not half bad!  Despite my fat and my nitpicking ways.  I only hope that I have been effective in returning the favor.

So often just one negative comment can distort our view of ourselves, but early in my relationship with Craig something happened that helped me overcome a lot of issues.  He was already asleep when I tiptoed into the bedroom.  I obviously didn’t tiptoe softly enough, because he opened his eyes and said:  “You are so incredibly beautiful” and went back to sleep.  I was gobsmacked!  Me beautiful?  I mean, I may not turn the milk sour, but I’d never thought I was beautiful!

And you know what?  The next dude may not think I’m anything special.  But I don’t care about the next dude, I care what my husband thinks.  And if he thinks I’m beautiful, I’m prepared to accept that.  He has impeccable taste, is entirely rational and very intelligent.

These days, when I look in the mirror, I don’t see a failure.  I don’t see ugliness.  I look for and see beauty.  I see someone who is constantly growing in confidence, who is ready to face her challenges, who is loved beyond her wildest dreams and who likes the person she’s become. 

I am so grateful for my friends and husband who helped me smash my old, defective mirror of self-loathing* and gave me one through which I can see myself as they see me.  The real me.

 * When you break that mirror you get seven years of growth and personal progress.  Probably longer.