One boy, five girls. A set of twins.
I have spent 3.75 years pregnant.
4 years breastfeeding.
And I stand in front of the mirror and give my body grief!
Oohhh, is my tummy beginning to droop? Is that a gunt? Disgusting!
What?! The cellulite on my legs is travelling. Down to my knees. That’s so gross!
Are my boobs getting floppier? Should they be sitting higher on my chest? Maybe they’re saggy? Are they?
I think my bum’s dropping? Is it? I need to do more lunges.
I refuse to let my partner see me from behind when I’m unclothed. He doesn’t know this. I’m so strategic! We were chatting about bodies the other day and I mentioned I hate my cellulite to which he replied, “Do you have any? I haven’t noticed.”
He’s either a really smart guy or my ‘gently back away, don’t turn around strategy when naked’ is working! Realistically, he knows my body completely, cellulite included! Does he love me any less? No!
I’m 54.
I have an incredible body. I know that, mostly. Inside, I’m still as insecure as anyone.
If I’m swimming, I always have a towel wrapped around my waist until I reach the waters edge. I quickly drop it and dive in. It’s safely there for me to cover up again when I get out. Another strategy!
I mean, who’s really going to be looking at me?
Who really cares? I’m not auditioning for a Victoria’s Secret photoshoot, yet, it almost feels like I am. And I’m the critic. I’m the squinting, harsh, judging eye observing every little fat dimple on the back of my legs.
What am I so self-conscious about? So ashamed of?
My CELLULITE!
The only time I’ve ever been cellulite-free as a grown woman was after the birth of my 4th child. I was super fit, taught aerobics classes at the local gym and was a mum to four kids under four! I barely had time to think, let alone eat!
I did a major detox fast. Boiled cabbage broth consumed over a week. I was vomiting by day five. It was too much for my body. I didn’t mind — I lost 5 kgs and my legs were sleek!
I would stand in front of the mirror — actually, I would back up to the mirror marvelling at the smooth, cellulite-free expanse of my rear thighs. No nasty fatty dimples or bulges. Such relief. Perhaps even a moment of joy.
The rest of my body was just skinny and unhealthy. Small, shrunken boobs from a healthy 36C cup to tiny 34A’s. I was constantly sick.
Was I any happier without cellulite? Superficially, yes. But it was impossible to maintain. My body likes being around 65kgs. My boobs are naturally full. I’ve always had a rounded tummy and hips. I have strong, solid legs and calves. I’m curvy. I’m a woman.
Why do we dislike cellulite so much? Why is it airbrushed out of every photo of women in magazines? Why do we sometimes literally starve ourselves to eliminate it from our bodies?
I have five daughters. All different shapes and sizes. They’re in their twenties — fit, healthy, strong and they all have differing degrees of cellulite in different places on their bodies. My mother is still alive, vibrant, healthy at 75. She too has cellulite. She’s had it for as long as I can remember. It’s never seemed to bother her.
I’m a Massage Therapist and most of the women I massage have cellulite. It’s NORMAL. I massage an ex-model. She has the most beautiful, long, lean, toned legs. I’m in love with her legs. They’re genetic — her sister has them as does her daughter. AND…lately, I’ve noticed some little bits of dimpling. What a relief!
I’ve learned to make peace with my cellulite, sort of. I still do the back -up manoeuvre. Maybe I’ll stop doing that. Maybe that’s my commitment to myself that it’s time to change. Maybe, next time I go swimming I’ll walk to the waters edge without a towel. I’ll stand there for a moment, take a deep breath, give thanks to my beautiful body and dive in.