Friday, 26 June 2015

Perfectly Imperfect

There is only one problem with working in an industry where you are expected to be perfect. In fact you are not expected to be, it is demanded of you. Being perfect at what you do is your actual job. So when you dip, or make an error it is flagged at just how not perfect and human you are.

Day-to-day life feels like it should be perfect.

I am in no way perfect, and I'm not even sure that I want to be. I find a lot of the fun in life comes from the moments that weren't planned. Escalate from happy accidents. 

In the same way that we are almost expected to be cookie cutter shapes of each other. Yet in the baking we are all subtly different. In some cases the differences aren't that subtle. 

On a whole I am very happy in who I am. I have looked worse, yet this year I have decided to make a concerted effort with my health. I'm not getting any younger, and over the course of November and December I let myself get horribly run down. To the point where I was developing sores on my face and body that were just not healing at a normal speed. 

I also know I can only put off dealing with my previous blood pressure issues for so long. 

Yet part of me worries about what the rest of the Plus-Size blogger community will think about this. Am I letting down the 'sisterhood'. 

Well no. 

If my journey takes me away from being plus-sized I'll be very surprised. Also, my size isn't the prime focus of my blog. It is part of it, but not all of it. 

I can be vain, and I can't say that being able to fit in clothes from more shops isn't abhorrent to me.  Say being a size 22 as opposed to the size 30/32 I am now will literally open more avenues for me. More clothes to wear, from more outlets. Not to mention high heeled shoes. The pain that occurs from forcing your body weight though your off kilter feet and ankles is pretty much ridiculous and makes movement almost impossible. 

I am currently feeling very down. Circumstances at home and at work have changed a lot. I have found myself peering into the bottom of a biscuit barrel wondering how I ate them all. Finding time to fit everything I want to do in has been hard. 

I have still not found the solution to wanting it all, getting it all or even managing to balance what I have already got effectively. 

What I do know is, as long as I am trying my best. That is good enough. I can do no more, but I sure as hell could do a whole lot less, but I don't. I should. But I don't. 

All of us are Perfectly Imperfect. Perfect doesn't exist. It's an ideal held up there, on a pedestal just out of reach from our mortal hands. 

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