If they hear us speak negatively about ourselves, surely it sticks, right?
Well, I’ve decided I’m not going to pass my insecurities down to my children…….that would suck if just a few careless words made all the difference.
I’ve scored a little gig as a contributor over at Bub Hub (yay me!!) so today’s post is over there…..
My mum was always slim, probably a size 12, when I was young, and I always thought she was, like, totally beautiful.
She was a really stylish kind of Mama (not using past tense because she’s dead, but because her style has now changed to a little more on the funky-Nana side of the spectrum).
She had short hair that was a cross between Annie Lennox and Robert Smith, and wore stylish clothes (although there is one rogue photo in the archives where she was rocking some kind of bad Laura Ashley phase – sorry Mum.) and lipstick, even to the shops. I remember watching her apply make-up in her bedroom mirror surrounded by a mist of perfumed and hair-sprayed air, and I thought she was the most glamorous creature ever.
My mum had fat days, and went on the odd diet. I remember her once throwing a Kit-Kat from her office drawer into the bin because she was on a diet.
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